


Light Of Lairyon

by HKpika, writingtheend



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drunkenness, Family, Fantasy, Gen, Hope, Impaled, Magic, Minor Original Character(s), OC, Please read, Team Crafted - Freeform, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, The hermits are a family, Violence, Wizard AU, alcohol mention, battles ahead, crossposting from tumblr, i dunno what to tag hhhhhh, its not as dark as the tags make it seem i promise, just social stuff, moved to mature because of some events in future, no heavy drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 94,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24808456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HKpika/pseuds/HKpika, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingtheend/pseuds/writingtheend
Summary: Heroes aren’t born.They’re made. The Order of Hermits never intended to be heroes. They accepted the contract to finally become a legal guild. But this group of outcasts, criminals, runaways, and survivors becomes ensnared in the fate of Lairyon, and a plot much bigger than their illegal family. Ensnared in a fight against dark magic, they must face life stealing magic, an army of soulless husks, a monster born of death and power, and the cruel ruler behind it all. Together, from all walks of life, with magic in all forms and function the hermits will become more than heroes.They will bring back the light.Posts weekly on Mondays and Fridays!
Comments: 313
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1: The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposting this from tumblr- bear with me because I've never used ao3 before!
> 
> Props to HKpika for coming up with this awesome au idea!

“Mail’s here!” Grian cheers, seeing their carrier bird appear over the horizon. He pulls his arcanum spell from Mumbo’s throat, and hops off the newest member of the guild to greet their phoenix friend. He pulls free a few pieces of charcoal, the favorite treat of their carrier phoenix. “Over here Phoebe!” 

“I feel like she needs a better name than that.” Doc mentions, tightening the straps of his robes and helping Iskall bring Mumbo to his feet. Dazed, and thoroughly thrashed by Grian. “Look, she didn’t even answer you. Phoenixes need a cool name- like Ember, or Blaze.” 

The bird swoops low, completely ignoring Grian and his tasty morsels of charred wood. A single feather falls free, caught by Cleo from midair. She holds the luminous material, glinting in sunlight like silver and blinding the whole group. “That’s...that’s not Phoebe. That’s an Alicanto.” 

Everyone’s head snaps, following the bird’s path as it comes to rest on TFC’s arm. Searching for the guildmaster of the Order of Hermits. Scar slips closer, awed by the opalescent white wings of such a noble bird. “I thought alicantos were only found in central Lairyon.” 

“It’s from the capitol.” TFC states, pulling the parchment from the parcel on the bird’s back. The scroll is stamped with a symbol everyone knows, whether the hermit is from the distant poor swamps of east Lairyon or the rich crystal mountains of the southerhern Fartop Peaks in the Lionheart Mountains. 

The scrawling laurels and crystals of the magistrate’s office. The alicanto pecks at TFC’s metal gloves, searching for food in the form of silver or gold. But every member of the guild has completely forgotten their divine visitor. They’re terrified of the contents within the parchment carried upon it’s back. 

“Oh my word, this is it! We’ve been found!” Mumbo shrieks, feeling his head get dizzy and light. He’s hardly been here for more than a year, and he’s about to get arrested. Years of following the rules, and the one time he goes rogue he’s been caught. 

“The arcane guard must be on their way. This is their letter telling us to surrender.” Cub shakes his head, watching as TFC opens the wax seal. 

“If we surrender, will they be light on us?” Ren questions, biting his lip and adjusting his sunglasses as Xisuma brushes past. He can smell the ozone scent of void on the previous guildmaster, pacing back and forth across the grass of the training field. Muttering something about his brother. 

“I’m not surrendering. I’m not going back to jail!” Doc crosses his arms and turns his nose up and away from the letter in defiance.

The entire guild, twenty something strong, creeps closer to TFC as his eyes scan across the parchment. The entire island is holding their breath, waiting for their guildmaster to tell the guild what’s waiting for them. Etho turns, falling into the shadow of the group and reappearing from TFC’s. “What does it say?” 

“We...it’s a contract.” TFC rereads the words again, and again. Trying to make sure he has everything right. That he read everything correctly. “The magistrate wants us, all of us, to go to a town called…” TFC squints his eyes and tries to read the name, before giving up. “Whatever, somewhere in east Lairyon. There’s been a disturbance that requires our help.” 

“All of us?” Xisuma stops dead, pulling off his mask so he can be sure he’s hearing everything right. “What needs an entire guild to take care of a ‘disturbance’?” 

“Forget that, why would the magistrate request the help of an illegal guild?” Doc puts his metal arm out, catching the attention of the alicanto. It hops free of TFC’s shoulder and swoops onto the puppeteer mage’s arm. Immediately, it begins pecking and pulling on the delicate materials and magic that makes his prosthesis. “Isn’t his entire job to arrest groups like us?” 

“That is kind of suspicious.” Iskall pipes up, tapping a gloved finger on the brown beard of his chin. 

TFC clears his throat, taking a deep breath. He brushes the white braid along his face, collecting himself. He needs to be the man in charge, cool and calm. “The letter isn’t officially from the magistrate’s office. It’s stamped like one, but it’s on personal parchment paper. The magistrate needs us because he can’t send official guilds without raising alarm. He wants this done discreetly, and none of the other council members agree with his actions.” 

“But us?” Cleo can’t help but agree with Doc. They aren’t exactly law-abiding citizens. They’re a mercenary group, flying under the radar of the Council of Lairyon. Doing the work they refuse to do, helping towns too poor to pay the hefty fees legal guilds require. “What do we get out of this? How do we know this isn’t some trap to lure us out of the Ashioll sea?” 

“And how does he know about us?” Mumbo adds, wringing his hands. 

“I...I don’t know, but I guess our reputation precedes us.” TFC nods to the guild hall, rising above the training grounds of the island on a soft hill. Where they can all talk. No one wastes time filing in, hungry for answers and completely ignoring the leftover breakfast still set out on the tables. The alicanto notices the metal cups, and sticks it’s head in search of a treat. And getting it’s golden crested head stuck in the pewter mug. 

“Well? Tell us what it says!” Stress bounces in her seat, short brown hair bouncing along with her.

“This town, Gildara, has been having what the contract only calls a ‘disturbance’ for the past few weeks. The council refuses to send a scout group, but the magistrate here says he can’t sit idly by and let people continue to get hurt. If we take care of the problem plaguing Gildara, we can…” TFC takes a deep breath, the excitement starting to fill his own voice. Calm, he needs to be calm. He’s the guildmaster. “We’ll be given the title of official guild, as well as a hefty sum of gold. We’ll get our magic license.” 

The reaction of the guild is mostly positive. They had given up applying for their license ages ago- before Xisuma gave up his role as guildmaster. They were always rejected, and warned to disband every time. But the Order of Hermits only have each other. Leaving their island, leaving each other, was never an option. They’re a menagerie of people, of criminals and runaways, S-Class mages and academy flunkies. Some people are skeptical of such a proposal, others are ecstatic. All are curious.

“What an opportunity of the lifetime!” Grian whoops, his wings appearing with hardly even a thought. Magic overflowing through the sky angel wizard, held down by his robes by Iskall and Mumbo. “Did it really say for all of us?” 

TFC looks back down at the paper, before letting it fall so everyone else can see. The hermits butt heads trying to peak at the contract before them. Jevin shakes his head, slimy hair squishing and getting stuck against Ren’s wagging tail. “It’s really for us all. The whole damn guild.” 

“I never saw that many zeroes in my life.” Grian whispers, his voice quiet for once. “That could fix all the damage from our battle with those creepy creatures.” 

Mumbo looks back, seeing white bandages peeking out from the sleeveless red hem and blue cloak around his shoulders. They almost didn’t survive that- if it weren’t for Grian and his archangel aura they wouldn’t have made it. His train of thought is disturbed when False pushes herself in, hands planting with challenging eyes towards Tango and Impulse. “Maybe you two can finally fix that hole you blew into my forge.” 

“I quite like the cross breeze our...modification gave.” Tango rests a hand on his chest, a snickering smile appearing across his face. Mirroring emotions fall across Impulse and Zedaph at his side, peeking around his arms. 

“Then move out and make your own modifications!” False shouts, but a coy grin and sharp eyes appear across her features. This won’t be the first time False and team ZIT have gotten into a duel over their accidental explosion, and it likely won’t be the last. “Zedaph already has his own place.” 

“He lives in a barn!” Impulse moans. “I hate how pokey hay is.” 

“You say barn like it’s a bad thing. The sheep are great roommates, they don’t light their pillows on fire.” Zed stares across at Tango. Quips trade across everyone, ideas brought up and shot down as quickly as Scar’s terraforming magic, all what to do with the money offered before them. 

TFC snaps his fingers, the ruby in his other hand glimmering with the magic circle. Lighting up lanterns that hang from the copse of trees and nestle in rock outcroppings of the outdoor guild hall. The fire burns bright, blinding the order even in the midmorning sun. “We should decide whether or not we all want to do this. We’re a guild, we should vote.” TFC raises his right hand. “Anyone oppose this contract? Please answer honestly..” 

The hermits look at each other, but no one’s arm even twitches to put their hand up. The contract is too curious to deny. So much to offer, including an adventure. TFC nods, and lifts his left hand. “All in favor?” 

Robes and sleeves snap up, twenty something hands raised into the air. It’s unanimous. TFC signs the contract, pulling over the alicanto and pulling it’s head free of the empty cup. He opens a hand to offer the divine bird a nugget of gold, which it greedily snaps up while he snaps on the response. “So it is. Alright, hermits. Let’s get packing. We depart for Gildara tomorrow at dawn.”


	2. Chapter 2- Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to HKpika for coming up with this awesome au!

“Are you sure I’m ready to go on a guild mission?” Mumbo questions, slipping vials of redstone into his pockets and pulling on his black robe. Twilight still holds rule over the Ashioll sea, mystical fog hiding the numerous islands within. Magic that hides the hermits and their illegal guild, as well as other dangers that live on the islands and in the water that surrounds them. 

“We’ve been training for this day for like, ever and ever. We’ve all seen what you’ve got on the training grounds. You’re ready Mumbo.” Grian shoulders his pack and pulls his hair free from his cloak. Mumbo has been packing since they left the guild hall, but his roommate just finished shoving his underwear into his backpack. Mumbo isn’t sure why he continues to live with Grian- he may have been the only person he knew when he joined the guild, but that was a year or so ago. More than enough time to build his own place. 

Grian nods towards the open archway of his home. Most of his place is open windows, wide enough for him to easily fly through white pillars holding up the glass dome. Protecting Mumbo’s stock of redstone, inventions, and his bed on the lower floors. The two wander down the quartz stairs, feet bouncing against the strengthened cloud that the tower sits upon. It took Grian and Scar days to find the right consistency of cloud that could hold up a building and people. Grian couldn’t help but want to lay down and bask in the cool droplets, playing in it like snow. 

But Mumbo keeps him on the right track, continuing down the stairs and across the bridge to the main island. Above them, they can hear BDubs shout from the top of his jungle tree, grabbing hold of a vine and sliding down. His landing isn’t that graceful, but his rebound is almost immediate. He shouts, waving to Keralis and sprinting down the dirt path. 

Mumbo and Grian pass by Joe’s library, lanterns blown out and books missing from their shelves. Including a few from a locked cabinet- his most important and dangerous books. In the distance, they can also see TFC’s gem cave has also gone dark, the crystals without the glimmer of light refracting through them, and the deck of Cleo’s shipwreck is devoid of ghosts and zombies. Her crew has been sent back to slumber while she’s gone. Grian jumps out of the way as Zedaph, Tango, and Impulse come rolling out of the barn. Tussling with one another, laughing and trying to beat the others to the guild hall. False is still at her forge, sweeping her hand and finishing the touches of another weapon. 

The guild hall is awash with talk, excitement, and nerves. They’ve never had a whole guild contract- it’s always been less than five, with one instance of about ten hermits to a single job. That was their highest paying job- until today. Normally, they have to curate their teams to the task at hand. The girls go into situations that need strength, team ZIT when they need a carrot and a stick. Transport missions often go with Etho, Scar, and Cub, and infiltration works best with Doc and Ren. 

False walks up the steps, plucking a pastry from the pile of food generously made by Stress. Her belt is filled with knives, and her backpack is swinging with various blades, all handcrafted. She tosses a saber to Cleo, who catches it with ease from midair. TFC clears his throat, looking at the collection of wizards before him. “Is that everyone? Do we have a headcount?” 

“We’re all here.” Xisuma states, pulling his mask over his face as the sun starts to rise. He may not be the guildmaster anymore, but he still takes a headcount every time they’re at a meeting. It’s just his instinct to. 

“Good, great. So, Gildara is a small town in the northern plain of Lairyon, which means it’ll be a few days' journey. Unfortunately, we’re too large a group to use Cub’s magic, and he’s never even heard of Gildara, much less been there. So that’s a wash.” TFC shrugs, and the hermits near Cub ease his apologies away. “We need to stay together, and be alert on our way there. We’re a large group traveling, people may ask questions. Does everyone remember our alibi?” 

Everyone nods their heads. Almost everyone. Mumbo leans over to Iskall, biting his lip. “Dude, I forgot it!” 

“That’s right- you’ve never been on a mission before.” Iskall leans back, listening to TFC as he continues down his list of preparations. “We aren’t a guild, we’re a circus troupe. Our magic isn’t regulated that way, and all you have to do is some silly tricks with your magic and they’ll just keep on going.” 

“But I can hardly get my magic to appear!” Mumbo’s eyes widen. 

“Then you’re just a clown.” Iskall grins, and leans away from Mumbo. 

“I think that’s everything I have listed here. Does anyone have any questions?” TFC rolls up the paper, slipping it into his messenger bag. Tucking it between bags of crystals- all charged with moonlight and ready for anything they’ll face. 

“Did the contract say anything about what we’ll be facing?” Joe questions, tapping his quill on his chin.   
TFC shakes his head, the braid in his beard rustling against his tunic. “No, it just said a ‘discrepancy’ has been occuring in Gildara. I can only assume the magistrate needs us to do more than just go at it with our weapons, but rather understand what’s happening.” 

“Why else would he offer such a large sum of money?” Grian points out. He knows he grew up poor, one orphan of many in a village that was ravaged by an uncontrolled magical fire. But even a noblewoman like Stress seemed alarmed by the price the contract brought. 

“It still seems too good to be true.” Doc whispers, but he’s not going to back out. He’s never one to shy away from a fight, a challenge. And what better than being a criminal that is getting paid by the very magistrate he despises? It’s too sweet a treat to deny himself. 

Zedaph sits up, eyes blinking back to himself. “The sky turtles have arrived! Let’s not waste another minute!”

He’s gone before anyone else, even the rest of his team, can process what he said. Running over the hillside to the sandy beach below the hill. Grian is up next, wings appearing and his tongue protruding from his lips. “Last one to the mainland has to pitch the tents!” 

That gets everyone to their feet. Tango casts his magic circle, red wings like a dragon’s appearing and sending him into the air after the angel. Disappearing into the thick fog of the Ashioll sea. And for the rest of the guild, those without the ability to fly, they have the sky turtles. Massive beasts of islands far off Lairyon’s shores. Flippers that double as wings, feathers flapping in the air as easily as they move through the water. Gentle giants, as old as the islands that they move between. Older than wizardkind. And they love Zedaph, his easy voice and soothing magic. 

The hermits board the flying turtles, three to a creature, holding onto the cloud colored carapace as the lumbering beast eases from sand to sky. Taking off after Grian and Tango. Departing to a new adventure.


	3. Gildara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Northern fields of Lairyon, Gildara waits for the Order of Hermits. The land around them is different...dying. Is this what the Magistrate sent them to discover? What kind of creature, what kind of plague causes this? The only way for them to find out is by going deeper- literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give HKpika lots of love because he came up with this au, i just make the cursor move 
> 
> Check out the end notes for a brief summary of the hermits magic, for those who aren't following from tumblr!
> 
> \----------

“It’s like a sea of grass. Look at how it rolls like waves.” Scar whistles, watching wheat dancing in the wind. 

Doc nudges Grian. “I see where you stole your hair now.” 

Grian takes off after Doc, shrugging off the hybrid’s attempt to puppeteer him and tackling into the ground. Iskall steps over the two, deep in conversation with Ren. The two share a fistbump, before Iskall casts his magic circle. A molded rod of radioactive material, which he’s dubbed iskallium, appears before them. Iskall grabs his creation and gives it a flourish. Ren attempts to mimic Iskall’s magic, his own magic circle starting red before turning a muted green. 

Just behind Iskall and Ren practicing, Cub, Scar, and Joe are deep in a conversation about the land around them. Wide fields of wheat, surrounded by row after row of carrots, potatoes, and more. This is the breadbasket of Lairyon. At the edge of the fields that surround the road, tall pines loom at the base of rocky mountain climbs. They’re south of Foresta, yet to cross Turtle River, but still within the fertile soil that the city is known for. 

A shadow passes over the traveling guild, before red wings flap to the ground. Tango turns around, red eyes anguished as he grips his flaming hair. TFC notices the body language of their scout, and steps forward. The entire road goes quiet, the guild the only travelers on this route. “What did you see?” 

“Its… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s big.” Tango’s wings fold away and disappear. 

“The monster?” Zed asks, creeping closer to his friend. 

“The destruction?” Impulse adds, following. Both trying to comfort Tango. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Tango shakes his head, his fiery hair half a step slower than his initial movement. “It looks like a black scar, like a dark bruise against the land. But nothing is destroyed. It- I can’t describe it, man. You just gotta keep walking. We’ll see.” 

And so they do. Tango seems shocked by what he saw, and the hermits try to ease his fears. With time, the emotions are eased and everyone relaxes when Tango can smile again. They’re more than just a guild. They’re a family. Most of them only have each other, and as chaotic as their guild can be, they’ll do anything to make sure each person is happy and safe. They care about each other, comfort each other. 

Ren stays near Tango, telling jokes and stories to keep up everyone’s morale. His brown ears prick up as he hears a change in the wind around him. He feels something brush against the skin of his feet, and looks down. “Whoa, my dudes.” 

Everyone stops, turning to look at Ren. He’s gazing beyond his sandaled feet, to the ground. A swirl of grey, clawing along the dirt like a vine reaching for a tree to choke from life, reaches out towards the gilded fields and verdant forests. Ren scrapes the sole of his shoe against the dirt, trying to scrape away the ash. But no matter how deep he digs, it remains monochrome. And it’s growing before their very eyes. 

Another skein of grey reaches past Joe’s feet, and he hops away from the strange phenomenon. He shivers, pulling his cape closer to his body. Despite being a warm summer day in north Lairyon, he feels like an icy breeze has just dug right into his bones. Into his core, striking at his heart and soul. He looks around, but Stress is nowhere near him. 

“There’s more.” Scar whispers, pointing down the road. The creeping darkness reaches out towards them. Out from Gildara. “This has to be that ‘discrepancy’ that the magistrate spoke of.” 

TFC bites his lip, but nods for the team to move forward. “Keep a tight watch, gang. Report anything out of the ordinary.” 

They continue forward, walking into the monotone ground. Around them, the fields wither to ashen plains. BDubs steps off the road, picking up a stalk and looking closer at it. The color looks like it was burned, but he can still see each individual grain on the wheat. It looks like it wilted, poisoned or left without the ability to grow. The entire field looks the same way. Every field. Dead farms on colorless land. 

The small town of Gildara rises in the distance. Tucked against the safety of a pine forest, with the open plains as it’s front yard. A short bridge rises over a dried creekbed into the village. 

“It looks like they had a drought.” False whispers, pressing forward with the braver souls. Mumbo and Jevin slip into the middle, spooked by the village. 

“It’s not a drought.” Grian responds, fingers playing with the ash colored needles of a tree. “These trees still look like they got a recent rain. That creek should be flowing.” 

“And things just beyond this grey stuff are well fed.” Zedaph adds. 

“Guys?” Iskall calls out, hurrying back to the group as they continue through the monochrome town. “Wh-where is everyone?” 

TFC stops, looking around. The town is small, but the houses look warm and welcoming. With large windows and open porches, but not a soul is to be seen. There’s no voices, no wails or whimpers. Not even a birdsong. No bodies, no bonfires. Doors remain closed, but shops are propped open, inviting customers to peruse wares. It’s like the entire town just simply...vanished. Everyone, every moving creature is gone. 

“Cleo?” TFC looks over his shoulder, but she’s already on it. Turquoise blue magic wisping and waving across the open air, Cleo’s arms and fingers moving in a choreographed series until the spell is cast. But the circle goes nowhere, hanging in the dead air with nothing to attach to.

“There’s no bodies anywhere. No ghosts either. There’s nothing.” Cleo reports, letting the magic fizzle away. Beneath her, the ash colored ground sparks and swirls.  
“It doesn’t look like a monster or bandits came through.” Xisuma notes. “There’s no sign of a fight, no claw marks or blood even.” 

“So where is everyone?” Keralis rubs his arms, looking around. He coughs, his throat feeling tight and lungs feeling heavy, his body exhausted. Like a storm is moving in, the wall of high pressure sending them into lethargy. Well, most of them. Grian gets excited, but even now he looks pressed. 

“Let’s check town center. If there’s anywhere we’ll find clues, it’ll be there.” TFC points down the road. The guild stays silent, as silent as the world around them. Devoid of color, until one of them looks up the mountainside. Beyond the clawing darkness, they can still see the dark green of alpine forests. The further into town they walk, the more the pressuring feeling rises. Like they’re being crushed, like air trapped deep within a mountain. Far underground, and just as dead and unmoving. Even the wind has stopped blowing. 

“What is that?” Etho questions, pointing towards the well at the center of the town square. The grey turns as black as ink, crawling free from the stone well and dispersing out into the grey blemish across the land. Etho tries to slip into the shadow of the darkness, but there’s nothing. It’s not a shadow- this is something else. 

Cub peers down the well, into the dark hole. “It’s coming from the water supply. Are we sure this isn’t some plague or poison?” 

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.” Doc points out. Beside him, Scar activates his magic and creates a series of steps. Down the well’s stony walls, the hermits descend into darkness. Into the maws of the beast. 

“Anybody got a light?” False questions, the only visible thing before her being Cub and Scar’s eyes as they glow a faint blue. 

“I got it.” Impulse pushes Tango forward, his hair illuminating the cave system they are within. Following the underground stream that terraforms the rock. 

Tango sighs. “I think I can do better than just my hair, man.” He draws his scrawling magic circle, summoning up flame that dances just above his hand. 

“And this is why having the explosives mage and a fire mage living in the same house is a bad idea.” False groans, but let’s Tango take point. He directs the flame, funneling the light as best he can forward. 

“Or we could just make Grian get his archangel aura.” BDubs adds. 

“We’ll be blinded then.” Mumbo adds, feeling his friend shift beside him nervously. He’s still healing from the last time he used his ultimate power. 

The cave around them opens up into a cavern, and Tango’s torchlight stops. Tango pulls his hand down, blowing on the flame. Trying to get the fire to burn brighter. But no matter how fierce the fire burns, it can’t make it through the darkness around them. 

Because the crystal before them takes it all. Absorbs all his light, leaving none to bounce along the walls of the cave. It hurts to breathe, the air thick as water and as heavy as rocks. The crystal hovers in the air, just above the spring of water. As soon as the creek wells, it evaporates. Turns to darkened ash, neutralized by the crystal above it. Tango steps back, behind TFC. “Alright man, this is your thing. What kind of creepy crystal makes water and color disappear?” 

“And what did it do to the town above us?” Cleo finishes, watching as TFC steps closer. He raises a gloved hand, pressing it against the cool, smooth crystal edge. He immediately retreats his touch, waving his hand like it burned him. 

“Whatever it is, it isn’t good. We should break it, and hopefully it’ll break whatever curse it’s causing on the town.” He steps back, feeling dizzy and fatigued. His head feels fuzzy. Impulse steps up first, a bright yellow circle quickly drawn and tossed onto the crystal. Seconds later, the magic explodes and the air shocks outward. 

The crystal is unharmed. Impulse tries again, this time with Ren mimicking him on the other side. The gem is as smooth as before. Xisuma steps up, snapping his fingers. But the destructive void magic is useless. Even when Ren’s imagination magic tries it’s hand in joint with Joe’s poetry, the crystal remains. 

Things get more aggressive. BDubs wraps a vine around the crystal, but upon touching the gem the plants wither and turn to blackened ash. Scar tries to pierce the jewel with stone, but it falls apart like silt, raining over the guild. Finally, False gives in and charges the gem. With a two handed sword raised, she leaps and swings the blade into the ebony stone. And immediately, the metal rusts and decays. 

“How do we break this?” Stress questions, picking at the rusted remains of False’s sword. 

“I don’t know, but Magistrate Dolios needs to know about this.” TFC steps up, despite the sickening feeling he gets near the crystal. He feels weak, tired. Using a diamond and his magic, he’s able to break off a tiny piece. Hardly even bigger than his pinky fingernail, but the best he can do. For a second, he swears he can feel the crystal vibrate beside him. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this.” 

The whole guild is in agreement, turning back the way they came. But the way is blocked. Grian’s face lights up as he sees the faces of farmers and villagers. “Look, this must be where the townfolk have been hiding!” 

“Grian wait-” Iskall reaches out, grabbing Grian by his cloak and pulling him back. “They...something doesn’t look right.” 

Tango raises his flame, trying to see the strangers. Trying to get a better look through the black and grey air. But they’re the same color, and the edges of their bodies, their fingers and limbs flaking away like embers and ash. “I… I think the crystal has grey-ificated them as well.” 

The woman’s eyes snap open, revealing haunting white eyes. The iris is gone, only glowing luminosity remaining. Her hands raise up, and a magic circle appears. It doesn’t look right- her motions are sloppy and the inscriptions are poorly drawn. Magic snaps and seethes across the air, uncontrolled and uncontained. 

The ground beneath the hermits feet turns soft, rock and dirt turning into quicksand and engulfing the legs of the hermits. A farmer behind the wizard raises his hand, pointing blankly to the crystal. And behind the struggling guild, the swearing and grunting to escape the mud scape, the crystal awakens. A black mist swirls around the crystal. 

Then strikes towards the captured hermits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermits powers: 
> 
> TFC- Mineral Magic  
> Jevin- Slime Magic  
> Zedaph- Shepard Magic  
> Stress- Ice Magic  
> Impulse- Explosion Magic  
> Tango- hellbound Magic  
> False- Weaponsmith Magic  
> Doc- Puppeteer Magic  
> Cleo- Undead Magic  
> Xisuma- Void Magic  
> Joe- Poetry Magic  
> Scar- Terraforming Magic  
> Ren- Imagination Magic  
> Cub- Portal Magic  
> Grian- Sky Angel Magic  
> Mumbo- Multi mage (redstone AND lightning Magic)  
> Iskall- Radiation Magic  
> Wels- Paladin Magic  
> Etho- Shadow Ninja Magic  
> Keralis- Bug Magic  
> BDubs- Plant Magic  
> xB- Whirlpool Magic  
> Beef- Taurus Magic  
> Hypno- Dream Magic


	4. Crystal Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in the depths of Gildara, the hermits are facing an attack on both sides. The missing villagers have appeared, but the townfolk do not seem happy to see them. Even worse, they mysterious crystal has awoken. And is about to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole AU belongs to HKpika, props to him for coming up with this awesome idea!

A shield rises between the hermits and the black mist. Everyone looks to see who quickdrew their magic that quickly. From beside Grian, he sees Ren’s arms raised and sweat beading across his brow. Trying to ward off the attack with the shield created from his imagination. “We need to get out of here, dudes!” 

Joe grasps for his journal, pulling it free from the silty water and scribbling his quill along the paper. It’s fast, but careful. The spell casts, stretching out and encasing Ren’s shield with another layer of protection. The deeper the guild sinks, the faster the sand engulfs their bodies. Either the crystal breaks through Ren and Joe’s shield, or they become buried alive by magic. 

“Doc, can you try to gain control of the townsfolk?” TFC questions, twisting and trying to pull himself free. It only makes him sink faster. The water within the quicksand chills, Stress pressing her hands into the mix of water and mud to attempt to slow them down. But she’s battling with the husked wizard, fighting for control.

“I-ugh, I’m trying, but they’re already being controlled by something!” Doc growls, yelping as the suction around him drags him deeper. He’s up to his chest now. 

“I can’t- Guys!” Grian whimpers, his head craned back. Just his hands and face remain above the quicksand. Stress is in a similar position, crying out as her magic fades and she focuses exclusively on surviving. “Help!”

“Hang on y’all, I got it.” Cub, up to his waist and ignoring how quickly he’s sinking, closes his eyes. Focuses on his magic. Everyone is crying out around him, but he finds calm. Ignoring the ground swallowing him whole, faster and faster. Feeling energy build up in his body. His finger reaches out, dragging free from the grip of the mud and casting his spell. In the cavern air heavy with pressure and filled with his friend’s screams, Cub’s magic circle appears.

And when he opens his eyes, the husk people are gone. A blue portal remains where they stood, fizzling away. Cub doesn’t know where they went, but all that matters is they're gone. The quicksand solidifies to mud, inches away from swallowing the shortest members whole. Giving everyone one short breath of relief. But while one enemy is gone, there’s still another to handle.

“Great, awesome we took care of the creepy ass village people,” Ren spits, his brow knotted and sweaty, “But that didn’t stop the angry crystal walloping Joe and me!” The crystal’s smoky mist berates them again. And again. The hermits can see cracks forming on the shield spells.

“Let me take a whack at it.” Iskall grins, summoning his magic. He reels his arm back and strikes his circle. It reverberates out, crackling and sharpening into a bolt of radioactive energy. It warps around Joe and Ren’s shield, crashing into the suspended gem. The mist retreats, radiation shocking and sizzling across the smooth siding. “It’s distracted, lets get out of this corrupted crystal cave of doom!” 

“Watch your toes, guys!” Scar chuckles, before casting his magic. The ground beneath them rises up, squeezing the hermits free from the sand trap that threatened to bury them. Grian and Stress retch the quicksand that invaded their throats. Scar stands free of the liquid mud, continuing to raise the ground beneath them with incredible strength. Impulse rolls to his back, aiming his magic to the roof of the cave quickly approaching them. He holds his arm steady with his opposing hand, a sly smile appearing as magic grows within his body. 

Before Scar’s magic can crush them, Impulse releases his spell. Like a shot, the explosion arches into the roof, digging through the ground and bursting into the fresh open air above. Wind magic released by Grian shoves the falling debris out of their way. Cub grabs Scar as he sways to the side, about to collapse from the strength of his magic as it slows and stops above ground. The entire guild is in a moment of shock, gasping for fresh air and a moment of quiet. 

“What...what was that?” Mumbo runs his hand through his hair, blinking as he tries to sort out what just happened beneath them. “What happened to those people? And that crystal?” 

“I’ve never seen a crystal like this before.” TFC raises the tiny piece he’s chipped off, rubbing his chin as he looks through it in the sunset light. No light filters through it, and just holding the tiny gem feels pressuring. 

“I think we have something to tell Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma flops back, staring at the sky above him. He hates being in caves, it’s so tight and he can’t see the sky. The open void above him. 

“We should head there immediately. Tell him about this...this crystal corruption. What it’s doing to the land, to the people.” Zedaph states, holding Impulse’s arm. He burned himself blasting through the ground. Grian flutters to his side, wings appearing as he begins to heal the wounds of his fellow hermits. 

“You think what those people were like had to do with the crystal?” Cleo questions, rising to her feet. She pulls off her boot, draining quicksand out of her shoes. 

“They had to be,” Tango nods in thanks as Grian moves on from Impulse, helping his friend stand up. “I don’t think that creepy hand wave was just coincidence.” 

“Something was wrong with those people.” Doc shakes his head. “I’m sure if I wasn’t drowning in sand, I could’ve taken control of them. But something else was already forcing them to do that. For the wizard to use her magic, to attack us. They didn’t look right, you saw them? They looked like their skin was made of ash and charcoal, and flaked just the same. They were just husks, no mind or soul. Just the remains of what once was a wizard.” 

TFC stands, pocketing the crystal in a small pocket of his tunic. Somewhere close where he’ll notice if it gets lost. “You all go to Milliara, tell the magistrate what we found. I’m going to return to the island and do some research of my own.” 

Xisuma bites his lip, pulling off his mask. His hand runs through his ponytail, fingers catching on brown tangles and rubble in his hair. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to go back alone?” 

“I’m not that old, X. I can handle twice as much as any of you youngsters.” TFC grins. “I’m sure you’ll find information while you’re there. Xisuma, you can look through the Crown Library and see if there’s any mention of a crystal like this. Doc, think you can get in contact with some of your underground buddies and see what they might know?” 

“You know it, T.” A coy smile appears on Doc’s face, easing across the green skin and silver metal of his hybridized features. 

Grian steps up to TFC, opening his palms. A soft white glow emanates from his hands. Flecks of energy drift upwards, leaving trails of gilded light like fireflies in the sky. “Are you hurt at all, guildmaster?” 

“Nah, just a bit lightheaded.” TFC rubs his head, pushing Grian’s hands away. “Must’ve been from how heavy the pressure that crystal had. We shouldn’t waste any more time, you guys head right to the capitol, claim our reward and tell Magistrate Dolios what you saw. Send Phoebe when you get updates, and I’ll meet you all at the island. Stay safe team.” He steps back, pulling out a bead of howlite. In a flash, he’s gone. 

“Best we get moving as well.” Xisuma turns back to the remaining hermits. He gave up being the guildmaster awhile ago, but he often finds he’s still the one people look up to. He just falls into a leadership role. 

“But X, can’t we at least take a break?” Grian whines, flopping down next to Iskall and Mumbo. “We just fought an angry crystal and two husk people, can’t we at least rest?” 

“Man, I can’t tell if that noise is my stomach or a banshee screeching.” Scar rubs his stomach and pouts. What he wouldn’t give to be back at the island, resting in his underwear and a purple robe, some fuzzy slippers and fruit. 

Xisuma sighs, his shoulders falling. Exhaustion washes over him as well, dragging him towards the ground. “Let’s...Let’s at least get out of this corrupted land. Then we can all rest until tomorrow.” 

Weak cheers escape the fatigued wizards. They help one another to standing, and begin their march back south. To Milliara, to the capitol. To deliver the dark news and terrifying findings to Magistrate Dolios. Hopefully he will have answers the hermits don’t, and a solution to ease their fears.

They travel beyond the swirling corruption, beyond where it could claw and reach them. Until they find an open field of grass, safe and welcoming them to sleep. The hermits don’t even dig out their tents, or even their bedrolls. Stress flops down, the soft skirt of her robes inviting others to lay atop of her. It becomes one large puddle of wizards, heads resting on stomachs and legs. The last one in the pile is Ren, clambering to the top and squeezing in the middle, tail tucked over his face as he curls up into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Milliara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in Milliara, the hermits are excited to finally share what they found with the Magistrate of Lairyon. Things....don't exactly go the way they plan, however. Meanwhile, on the hermit island of Eremita, an old friend returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU idea belongs to hkpika, words written by writing-the-end!

The walls of the capitol stretch across the swampy marshes of mid-Lairyon, the only firm and permanent ground being the roads and city streets. During the winter months, when the marshes flood with snowmelt from the mountains both north and south, the walls protect the city from the rising waters as well as attacks from monsters and other enemies. 

Entering through the massive Kindness Gates of the northeast wall, Scar can’t help but feel like the gates don’t reflect their names. The sharp iron teeth of the portcullis bear down over them as they walk through, just one pull of a chain and the bars would clamp down and bite him in half. He glances to the side, noting the sharp halberds each soldier stands at attention with as well- faces devoid of any emotion. It takes Scar a second to realize they aren’t real people- they’re all the multiplication of one man. Very real, but magical all the same. Clones, with the real man as the captain. 

Scar scurries back to the group of hermits, looking around at the massive, sprawling city. A shadow casts over them, the pillar representing one of the eight core values set by the king. Kindness, casting it’s long shadow over the bright pennants and green canals of the streets. Wooden buildings stand on stilts, resting on the steppes and tiers of the city. From beside and beneath the houses, waterfalls pour over mossy and verdant lips of ground, water traveling through the city like blood through veins. Little boats carry messages, their fabric sails filled magically. They bob down the canals, bumping across lilypads and the flowers that live on circular islands, tipping over waterfalls but never losing it’s precious mail. 

And already, the hermits can see the center of the city, the heart of Lairyon. Three large buildings, white as aged cypress trees, and just as old. The castle, with gleaming towers that stretch out like branches, home of King Sor. 

In the center, a stout building with twin water wheels, spinning in their eternal race to nowhere. Moving water across all of Milliara, like a heart pumping blood. Water is the lifeblood of Lairyon, the island nation. The structure is a feat only completed through the help of all the cities. Metal from Dwarveil, flown in with cooperation from Foresta and Edenswell- their magic and animals. The mill, built by the brightest engineers from Darlon, and the water moved with the aid of Rivera and Watercrest’s magical affinity. 

And to the right, the newest building. The capitol house, home of the magistrate and Council of Guilds. It’s they who make the laws, with the magistrate as the elected head of the people. Vaulting windows that spiral up the shortest building of the three, and the flag of Lairyon at every corner and trellis. That’s where the hermits are going. The capitol building, to meet with Magistrate Dolios. Some call him the People’s King- elected by the populace, but in power almost as long as the young king has been. The people just keep electing him every new season. 

Doc rubs his shoulders, glancing out the corner of his eyes as they walk over a bridge, white twisted roots and pennants bearing Lairyon’s colors inviting the hermits into the city center. “Doesn’t this feel wrong, you guys?” 

“What do you mean?” Jevin tilts his head, slime squishing and a lock of his blue semi-liquid hair falling into a cowlick. 

“I mean...we should be more careful, man. We’re an illegal guild walking into the center of the law. Most of us have been on the wrong side of this man and his rules about guilds for years.” Doc tugs on the sleeves of his robes, the tattered ends sticking out like a sore thumb around high society. 

“You’re just being paranoid, dude.” Ren snickers. “Not all of us are hardened criminals that have done time in prison. Just you, Doc.” 

“Besides, the magistrate said if we investigated that mega problem in Gildara, we’d become a legal guild. Well, now here we are to claim our reward!” Iskall adds. 

“Why now, is all I’m asking.” Doc picks up his pace, falling in step with Xisuma. “How many times have we been rejected to be a new guild? I mean, we tried to follow Dolios’s law and get a license, but we were always rejected for no freaking reason! It’s not a fair law, but now all of sudden he wants to give us what we were denied? And why not ask any other guild?” 

Xisuma tightens his lip, though no one but him knows. His mask is on, protecting him from the sunlight. “We can’t go into this assuming anything. We did what the magistrate has asked, despite the clear violation we are in with his own laws.” 

“Just...remember that.” Doc slinks back, falling into step with BDubs and Zedaph. Both of which would rather not be in the busy city center. Guilds have been restricted by law, one of Magistrate Dolios’s early orders passed. A licensed guild is moderated, inspected. Safer than an unlicensed guild. At least, according to the capitol, they are. 

But unlicensed guilds have their reasons for existing. It’s expensive to run a legal guild, so missions often come with high expenses. The Hermit guild picks up work legal guilds would refuse, helping poor towns who can’t afford such high commission fees. To many of the hermits, the laws of guilds are too strict. They don’t allow for creativity, for individuality. To belong to a guild has become a status symbol few poorer or uneducated mages can attain. The knowledge stays within the guilds, and especially the Council of Guilds has become a country club of sorts. The new nobility. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve stood here.” Stress whispers, looking up the steps of the capitol building. 

“Right there with ya, mate.” Mumbo runs his bottom lip over the hairs of his mustache, looking around. Hoping no one notices him. Stress ran away from the high life. Mumbo was abandoned by it. The guild walks up the steps, an odd crew seen at the crown of the kingdom. A mix of criminals and nobles, mischief makers and rule followers, quiet souls and crowd pleasers. And their magic is just as varied. Guild members and other government officials stare as they enter into the grand hall of the capitol, clean pressed robes a harsh contrast to the battle worn and road weary hermits. Grian still has hay sticking out of his hair. 

The staircase, with velvety red carpet and marble steps, is blocked by giant magical swords. Guards wield the blades, keeping what they can only imagine to be riffraff out of the offices. “State your business, wizard.” 

“We are here to meet with Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma states, lifting his chin proudly. The guards don’t move, only glancing at one another. X rolls back on his heels, the awkward silence prolonging until he’s popping his lips just to fill the void. He typically likes that stuff too. “I expect he knows we’re coming, right?” 

“Why would the magistrate, the leader of Lairyon, want to see a bunch of mongrels off the streets?” One guard hisses, nose wrinkling. “You all reek of backwater, why don’t you return to your-” The second guard is cut off as his sword pulls away from blocking the stairs to point at the hermits.

“What do you think you’re doing to my esteemed guests?” A clear, calm voice cuts through the air. A voice that demands the attention of every single person in the hall, including every hermit. The guards turn, looking up the stairs. And standing at the top, hand resting on the stone railing, is Magistrate Dolios. 

Curly brown hair, the color of fertile soil fresh from a morning rainfall, sweeps down into a tame ponytail, framing a tanned face and charismatic blue-hazel eyes. A soft smile creases between the magistrate’s beard. Purple and red robes flow down the stairs, a golden tassled belt denoting the man as the magistrate of the Council. “You put those barbaric weapons away, and let these good people of Lairyon up the steps.” Dolios looks to Xisuma, nodding his head and placing a hand over his heart. “I have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

The guards don’t hesitate to follow the magistrate’s orders, sheathing the weapons and letting the hermits pass by. Most follow Magistrate Dolios up the stairs, though Doc can’t help but give the arcane guard some trouble on his way past. For once, they can’t do anything to arrest him. The hermits follow the magistrate up into the offices, walking along the velvet carpet with awe. Most have never seen such riches in their life. Dolios’s words are just din. “I’m so glad you arrived completely unharmed. But may I ask...where is your guildmaster?” 

“TFC? He went back to our compound to research a specimen he found in Gildara. He didn’t want to waste a minute, so he left alone.” X responds, stepping through the door that Dolios opens. 

They’re in his office. It’s large, but the space feels tight. It’s full of artifacts and trophies, both manmade and organic. Zedaph immediately shrinks in, the head of a bakunawa mounted on the wall beside him. Impulse and Tango look around as well, all three members of team ZIT unnerved by the office. Something doesn’t feel right. But Dolios is perfectly at home, sauntering behind his desk and sitting down. His eyes run across the hermits before him, picking up a white feather from his desk as his eyes pass over Grian. “So, tell me. What did you find in the town of Gildara?” 

Joe steps up, repositioning his glasses on the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat. “When we reached about five kilometers from the town of Gildara, we became aware of the earth turning grey, like ash. But not just the top layer- the entire ground was devoid of life. Crops that grew died, and wooden poles were beginning to rot. When we reached the town, it was completely uninhabited. We soon discovered a crystal deep within the well of the town, which was unaffected by any magic we threw at it.” 

Dolios nods his head slowly. “So how did you take care of the problem?” 

“We...We didn’t. Two people- who we can only describe as being simple husks, devoid of thought, life, or energy beyond basic magic- appeared, attacking us. The crystal then lashed out, and we were only able to make it retreat before falling back ourselves.” Joe bites his lip. 

“You asked us to investigate the disturbance, Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma steps up, brushing out the top of his outfit. “We took care of the crystal, sending it into dormancy. But the people of Gildara are gone. I think this requires more researching before we can truly do something to break that crystal. Based on my albeit limited knowledge- they don’t really cover this kind of magic at the academy- I do believe this crystal was corrupted by dark magic.” 

The office is silent, Dolios staring at the hermits. Finally, he sighs. “That is rather...disturbing news. Do you have any idea who could be behind this?” All of the hermits shake their heads in unison, thought team ZIT becomes distracted by something fluttering on the wall. “Unfortunate. Well, your work is valuable to my cause. I have learned a great deal from this.” 

Dolios stands, hand waving. The door behind the hermits opens, allowing the harsh light of the hall into the dark office. False raises an eyebrow. “So...does that mean we’re a guild now? A legal guild?” 

Mumbo steps back as he sees a dangerous glint enter Dolios’s gaze, though his lips never turn away from the charismatic smile he wears like jewelry. He closes his eyes, hand raising to cover his mouth. But it does nothing to hide the laughter, growing as his shoulders bounce and he leans back in his chair. It’s a low laugh, reverberating from the chest like a growl. “You really believed I would give you the honorable title of a licensed guild...just for that?” 

Doc rips forward, hand waving across and nearly knocking half a dozen knicknacks from the Magistrate’s desk. A few papers lift up, but the magistrate places a hand over them without even looking away from the puppeteer. “We did what you contracted us to do! You said we’d be a legal guild!” 

“You mean this contract?” Dolios’s fingers dance across a parchment paper, bearing the signature of the Order of Hermits’ guildmaster. TFC’s crawling, stout signature. He lifts it up, showing it to all the hermits with brazen eyes. A devious curl appears at the corner of his soft smile, and he snaps his fingers.

The contract goes up in flames. Ash sweeps past the hermits, carrying all their hopes and dreams along with it. “Why would this nation need a pack of roaches like you? I will let this unlawful congregation of...miscreants pass through Milliara for now. But you all are in direct violation of my laws, and must disband at once. You are dismissed.” 

“That’s not fair!” Grian shouts, scrabbling up Mumbo to get a better view- a better place to yell from. “You contracted us to investigate Gildara, you contacted us yourself! You-” 

“You need to learn to stop squawking your mouth, little bird.” Dolios cuts him off, twirling the feather in his hand. Zedaph notices red stains on the pure white barbs. “I recommend you all leave my office now, before your privilege as esteemed guests becomes the misfortune as unlawful intruders to the leader of Lairyon’s own office. I will repeat myself only once more. You are dismissed.” 

Doc is the first one out. Storming through the guild, muttering “I told you so” under his breath. Zedaph races out next, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Tango and Impulse are close behind their friend. Once every last hermit is out, the door slams closed, and the same guards that met them at the bottom of the stairs have arrived to escort them out. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________

“TFC? Where is everyone?” TFC looks up, pulling the magnifying piece from his eye and setting down the black crystal. Before him, a knight in shining armor has appeared, or at least the closest version the hermits can find. 

“Ahh, Wels. What took you so long?” TFC grumbles, returning to his inspection of the crystal. The short tone sets Wels aback, brows furrowing. Their guildmaster is typically overjoyed to have a hermit return from a mission. Hugging, checking them over for wounds, and asking about the job done. 

“You know Alphasgard. Just a bunch of sticks in the asses.” Wels shrugs, feeling his shoulder ache where the bone and skin is still healing. Those rogues thought they could torture him for information, but they just made him mad. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Got some pretty sick scars to show off when the others return. Where are they?” 

But TFC isn’t listening, back to prodding the crystal with a metal needle. Scraping at the lustrous surface. Wels steps away, setting his shield down at False’s forge before returning to his home. He glances back at TFC’s crystalline cave. Something isn’t right. TFC would be hounding Wels to take a look at his scars. He always berates the younger members for being so reckless, but then pats them on the back- quite rough- and congratulates them on another great tavern tale earned. But TFC is alone, on the empty island. How long has he been the only one here? Just him and that strange crystal? 

And what happened to the other Hermits?


	6. Of Guilds and Gems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rejected and told to disband, the hermits can only lament their losses and try to figure out where to go from here. Luckily, a message gives them all they need to know.

The hermits sit at the canal’s wall, feet dangling over the slow moving water. Watching letters sail by, flags flutter in the wind, and waterfalls fill the ever-moving marsh. Most of the hermits can’t manage to touch their ice cream, their stomach sick just thinking about what happened. For once, Grian’s foolproof pick-me-up isn’t working. 

But ice cream always works. It’s how he got to know Mumbo, after saving him from a violent robbery. He remembers Mumbo’s alarmed expression as he simply wiped away the blood and asked what his favorite flavor was. When Etho failed his S-Class trials, it was ice cream that brought back a smile on the shadow ninja’s face. Grian was sure ice cream would ease the painful rejection they just received. 

The frozen treats are all melted by the time someone speaks up. Everyone expected to hear Xisuma, wise counseling from their substitute guildmaster, or an angry tirade from Doc. But it’s Zedaph who’s voice rises up. “I didn’t like his office. It had...a bad feeling in there. The feeling of death.” 

“Probably because of all his taxidermy animals, bro.” Iskall sighs, flopping onto his back and staring at the sky. Watching the white clouds move across the blue sky with one crystal eye. “Trust me, that was weird for everyone.” 

“No, beyond that. It wasn’t just the heads. It felt like everything in there was… was screaming. I don’t know, my shepherd magic just told me that all those souls were in agony or something.” Zedaph bites his lip. His magic was always so hard to describe. It was more than just a feeling. It was nauseating, overwhelming. 

“Maybe it was just the sound of all our souls being betrayed at once.” Jevin grumbles, playing with a ball of slime in his hand, movement lackluster and slow. 

“He had our crest.” Impulse’s voice is gruff, husky and low. Twenty something heads turn to face the member of team ZIT, but he doesn’t look up from the water. His fists clench, leather of his fingerless gloves rippling. “He had the crest of a murdered guild hung up on his wall like some trophy.” 

“Maybe it was in memory?” Stress whispers. “Or he had a friend who died in the massacre? As rude as that whole burning contract thing was, I don’t think he’s anything more than a jackass.” A ripple of agreement washes across the other hermits. Tango looks at his friends, and does his best to console them. They’re all thinking about their old guild, the only three survivors left to remember them. The only legal guild that wanted a shepherd mage and his talking animal abilities, a wizard that can summon hell magic and has fire for hair, and a sorcerer who only deals with destruction. 

Keralis’s eyes follow two wizards, walking by in dark grey robes, blue tassled belts denoting their position within a legal guild. Uniforms of notoriety, of power and presence. Respect, easily won as they just walk down the streets of Milliara. “Maybe we can ask one of the Council guilds to help. Surely if they hear what we saw, they will want to help the people of Lairyon, no?” 

“Those pompous bastards?” Iskall snorts, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “They only care about their seat on the council and being the richest guild in Lairyon. If Gildara doesn’t pay up, they won’t do a damned thing.” The Council seats are filled by the six strongest guilds, and the elected magistrate. Unlike Dolios, they aren’t chosen. The guildmasters take up the seat, and they are picked solely based on their guild’s bylaws. Many are nobles, gaining even more power in law as well as class. The guilds are elite, licensed and powerful enough to sway not just the populace but the government as well.

Keralis whimpers, watching the two guildmembers walk by. They must be strong, well trained to be a member of a Council guild. And all that is being wasted, put on display by their guilds and waltzing around Milliara. When the entire nation needs them. 

“What about King Sor?” Stress breathes. “He has some say in the ruling of Lairyon. These are his people.”

“No one has heard anything from the king in years. Apart from his festival appearances and other civil duties, he just passes any law that appears on his throne.” Mumbo remembers the last time he saw King Sor. Just a few days before he attempted the exam for the Stoneforge guild- the last guild that would even think to take him. It was a joyous day of celebration, a festival of art and creativity- something he remembers King Sor used to love when he was but a prince. 

But when the king appeared at his promenade, there was a hint of fear in his eyes the entire time he spoke. As soon as he was done, he scrambled back to his royal advisor and let Magistrate Dolios return to his part of the speeches. There was no one in the government they could ask, no one they could think to turn to.  
Etho nudges Xisuma on the shoulder. “There’s one person we could ask. What about your-” 

“No, absolutely not.” Xisuma stands, brushing off the dirt from his robes. “Come on gang, let’s get back to our home.” He glances over his shoulder, the hermits following his gaze to an arcane guard, just a few meters away and easily visible as the crowd breaks around him, like water splitting at a boulder in the stream.. “We need to get to work packing up.” 

Mumbo’s lip trembles. No, this can’t be happening. He finally has a guild, a place he feels he belongs. His magic may be weak, uncontrollable at best, but they don’t care. They just like having him around. Years of being denied entry into guild after guild, abandoned by his family as a failure, and turning to an illegal guild. And finding more than he ever had in the gilded halls of noble high life. All gone, taken from him again. But then he notices Xisuma wink from within the mask, as well as Grian’s sly grin on his face, and he realizes his mistake. 

“Whoa, what the hell?” A cacophony ripples down the street, people ducking out of the way and chagrining at the flying flame that banks and bows under the many flags and pennants. “Who is stupid enough to use a phoenix for a mail carrier?”

Grian gasps, bouncing into the sky with his wings unfolding. “Phoebe!” 

“Still needs a better name.” Doc grumbles, watching as the firebird lands on Grian’s arm. Feathers like tongues of flame ruffle, brushing up against Grian as she nuzzles against the wizard. His cheeks turn pink, but don’t burn. Her chirps are the sound of wood breaking and embers sizzling, but each hermit welcomes the sight of their unusual mail carrier. 

“I bet it’s TFC. He’s probably asking how things went.” Grian grimaces, letting Xisuma open the scroll strapped in an enchanted carrier. 

“Nope, actually. Wels is back,” A loud cheer follows the announcement. He’d been gone for months, on a solo mission in Alphasgard. The guild was starting to worry when he wasn’t responding to their correspondences. X peers at the letter, ignoring Grian as he digs into Xisuma’s backpack. Searching for charcoal to treat Phoebe. “He’s writing to… he wants us to come home as soon as possible.” 

Xisuma sighs, feeling the pressure of the entire guild peeking over his shoulder and clambering over him to see what the letter says. Impatient buggers, the lot of them. He tosses the paper for them all to see. Elegant handwriting, sharp as a blade and shiny as armor, pens out the message to them all- 

>   
> To my fellow hermits,
> 
> Please come home IMMEDIATELY. TFC is scaring me- he’s not acting right. He spends all day pestering with one tiny crystal, he’s been acting irritated and irrational. Just yesterday he yelled at me for bringing him baklava. He loves my baklava!  
> What is going on? Is there something I missed?
> 
> -Wels, Paladin Wizard, sworn Knight of Lairyon 

“Does he always have to sign it like it’s an official document?” Cub shrugs. 

“What does he mean, TFC isn’t acting right?” Mumbo bites his lip, brows knitting together. TFC never yells at anyone, he’s more of a father to Mumbo than his own ever was. 

“We missed Wels’s baklava!” Zedaph whines. The day just keeps getting worse and worse. 

“If it’s something that has Wels so worried, we should get back as soon as possible. Either way, there’s nothing for us here.” Xisuma rolls up the parchment, and the entire guild continues with a heightened pace to the western gate- the gate of determination. Set on getting back to the sea as fast as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who etho was going to talk about??? and what is happening with our mineral mage?


	7. Mineral Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hermits are home on their hidden island of Eremita, welcomed by a friendly face...and a not so friendly friend. TFC is desperate to discover what the crystal is, even at the expense of his own wellbeing. But does he take it too far?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posting from Tumblr, this AU belongs to HKpika!

At the tallest rise of the island, a glimmer is visible. Light shining off metal, and a small red tassel flowing free of the knight’s helmet. As stoic as he looks, standing heroically at the crest of the island, his face shows a childish glee. Jevin squeals, jumping from the sky turtle and rolling across the grass. “Wels! Long time no see, my man!” 

Wels lets out a raucous laugh, features lighting up with joy to see his friends, his family. After what he’s been through in Alphasgard, he was afraid he’d never see them again. See the ragtag team of idiots he calls family. “Hear you guys got a big contract- and you didn’t invite me?” 

“You stopped answering our letters, we thought you were too busy.” Stress giggles. 

“Phoebe was so sad every time she returned with the letter unopened.” Zedaph pouts, patting the head of the massive turtle, fingers gently preening the green feathers of the beast, the whorls like clouds in the sky. 

“What even happened?” Doc questions, sliding down the massive turtle shell with a lot less of his usual suave attitude. He may be a puppeteer mage, but animals are Zed’s thing. “We came as fast as we could.” 

“Let’s just say some people were less than happy to find me snooping around their sewer lair.” Wels shrugs off his tunic’s sleeve, showing the scar running over his shoulder. Mumbo winces alongside Stress, but False steps up.

“Wicked scar, man.” She high fives him. “I’m sure you left me with a whole pile of things to fix, huh?” 

“You bet. But first… what’s been going on with TFC? What is that crystal that he’s practically sleeping with?” The guild turns, looking down the hill, across the small forest and pond, over the training grounds to the inhabited side of the island. Among the odd collection of homes, he can see the crystal cave that TFC calls his own. 

“Lets grab TFC, and we can go over everything at once. Including what he missed.” Xisuma nods the rest of the guild to their open hall, while he follows the footpath to the cave. Exactly as Wels warned him, TFC is hunched over his desk, picking and scraping at the crystal in his hand. “TFC?”

“What?” TFC looks up, blinking away the fatigue in his eyes. Dark rings and bags accentuate the sharp gaze he shoots at Xisuma. X steps back, before entering into the cave. 

“We’re back, all of us are gathering in the guild hall to go over everything that happened. Haven’t you filled in Wels yet?” TFC isn’t acting like himself, he isn’t acting like the leader Xisuma knows he is. The father he is to every hermit. Strong and a good leader, calm and thoughtful. His words are short, cutting into Xisuma’s skin and lashing him with the tone in his voice. 

“I’m busy, can’t you see?” TFC raises the piece of the crystal, light consumed by the darkness. Xisuma retreats from the magical item, feeling the evil magic within. He looks up, noticing the hungry, weak stare that TFC holds with the crystal. He’s obsessed with it, he doesn’t even notice his hunger or fatigue. 

“TFC, please. Take a break, we have...a lot happened in Milliara. You’re our guildmaster, you need to be there.” Xisuma reaches out, but as soon as his fingers brush the draining crystal, TFC’s hand wraps around his wrist. It’s a firm grip, fingers constricting tighter and tighter until Xisuma’s knees buckle from the pain. Xisuma gasps, shaking. Sure, he’s been in duels with TFC more times than he can count, but TFC never intended to hurt him before. He never intends to hurt any of them. “T-TFC.” 

TFC notices the fear crossing Xisuma’s eyes, the way he’s collapsing under the tight grip around his wrist. Fear...of him. Of his own guildmaster. TFC retracts his hand, cradling the crystal close to his chest. Why did he do that? Why did he hurt Xisuma? He just didn’t want him to touch the crystal. “Fine, I’ll go.” 

The rest of the guild is listening to Wels regale them with his mission, pointing to aging wounds. “-and that’s when they captured me. They thought they had me beat? Ha! I took that sleep potion on purpose. I knew they’d take me right into their lair.” 

“But you were tortured! Wounded!” Keralis whimpers. 

“A little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop me from finishing my mission. These rogues were murdering people in cold blood- lucky for them mine was hot.” Wels’s lion tail flicks to the side, passing from one shoulder to the next like the tongue of a clock. Content to be with his friends- and very content to have some of Cleo’s amazing hard cider in his stomach. 

Everyone looks up, seeing the last two members of the guild arriving. Wels turns, resting his arm on the black pants. He doesn’t feel like wearing his armor, not on a day off like this. “So… tell me, what took all of you guys off the island?” 

“We got a huge contract. For all of us.” Grian grins, before remembering how that contract ended for them. They didn’t even get the gold, just a slap on the wrist. For what? Doing exactly what Magistrate Dolios wanted. 

“We were asked by the magistrate himself to investigate a disturbance in a town. But when we arrived, everything was dead.” Xisuma adds, tucking himself in the shade of the tree. He pulls off his mask, safe from the blinding light of the sun, his eyes weak after years of stargazing. 

“Okay… that’s not all that weird. Was it a plague? Or some banshee?” Wels shrugs, pulling his curly blonde hair away from his neck. He did not miss the warmth that the Ashioll sea brings, compared to Alphasgard’s cool mountain breeze. 

“No, not dead like that. Not just a corpse on the ground.” Cleo mutters. “There was nothing. Not even a soul left for me to find. And not just people or animals. Crops withered to ash, wood rotted to charcoal, and water dried up. It wasn’t just the people- the entire land was dead. A black scar on the map.” 

Wels’s face darkens, his eyes falling to the floor as he considers this news. “So what did you find?” 

“We found a crystal within the well system. Large, imposing. Floating over the spring. Taking its power.” Zedaph leans over Tango and Impulse. 

“And then it attacked us.” Tango hisses, playing with the tattered sash of Impulse’s. Pulling on the yellow threads and adding it to Zedaph’s golden locks. He’ll have an extra head of hair, if Impulse doesn’t notice. “These two creepy husk townsfolk came in, one attacked us, and then the crystal started spewing creepy mist stuff and nearly spiked us with it.” 

“The same crystal that TFC has?” Wels looks at the black gem in his hand. It’s so small, how was it able to overcome them all? 

“No, that’s just a mega tiny chunk.” Iskall responds, before pausing and squinting as he recounts his words. “No matter what we did, almost nothing could break it. Only my iskallium was strong enough to put it back into dormancy.”

“We narrowly escaped, but that’s when we rushed to Milliara. To tell the magistrate what we saw.” Xisuma leans against the massive oak tree at the center of the open guild hall. 

“Wait...the magistrate, Magistrate Dolios- leader of the Council of Guilds, creator of that ridiculous law about licensing guilds? He asked us?” Wels looks around, waving at the island hidden among the mysterious, danger ridden sea. “He does know we aren’t a legal guild, right?”

“That was his whole point. His whole ploy.” Doc growled, his lips curling back. He wishes he could give that jackass a taste of his own medicine. Play with him like he did to them. “He tricked us into doing his dirty work, then made a fool of us all in Milliara.” 

Now it’s TFC’s turn to be confused as well. “Wha- what do you mean? He tricked us?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s the best part.” Etho growls. “He burned the contract, and kicked us out like we were idiots asking to be licensed. He played us.” 

Anger flares hot in TFC’s veins, itching from his wrist where he holds onto the crystal. Like it’s feeding off his emotions. “So we did all this...for nothing!” 

“No, not nothing.” Xisuma tries to calm TFC down. Try to get him to think like he normally does. Rational and calm. “This crystal, the one you have. I think there’s more going on. Joe, could I root around in your library, see what I can research? See what this magic could be from?” 

Joe nods, and opens his mouth to welcome X to even search through his restricted books. But TFC cuts him off. “No! I’ve got this, I’m close to figuring it out. Learning the trick behind the crystal. You don’t need to get yourself tangled up in my work.” 

“TFC...we always work together. That’s why we have a guild.” Mumbo whispers, standing up. “Listen mate… a lot of us are worried about you. I think that crystal is affecting you, dude. You’re- you’re scaring some of us.” 

Mumbo opens his hand, quietly asking for the crystal. Not forever- he can’t do the magic that TFC can. If they hope to learn anything, they need his work. But it’s obviously affecting him. He’s changed. 

But TFC recoils, gripping the crystal tight. “No! This is my work- I just have to test the gem and see it’s properties, and we’ll know exactly how to handle this. I don’t need you guys interfering!” 

Xisuma’s eyes widen, realizing what TFC is saying. “T no!” 

He reaches out, but he’s a second too slow. TFC’s magic circle has already been cast, surrounding the gem and sapping it’s powers. The blue arcane light stains black, circles and lines falling apart and struggling against the dark magic. Taking it over. 

TFC falls to his knees, gripping his head. Black veins crawl up his skin, from the hand still holding the crystal. Unable to let it go. Like worms crawling through his bloodstream, infecting his body, sapping his strength. His skin turns pale, almost an ashen grey tone. The corrupted magic circle fades away, black mist replacing where magic hung desperate in the air, trying to stay activated. The mist retreats back to the crystal. 

The hermits rush to TFC’s side. Grian’s hands are already glowing, trying to find a way to heal TFC from the pain, but none of it is external, or even wounded. He’s sick, not hurt. He’s in pain, not broken. Xisuma holds the guildmaster up, ignoring the painful glare of sun in his delicate eyes to focus on TFC. “The crystal! He must’ve activated it’s magic! It’s draining him like it did Gildara!” 

“We have to get it out of his hand.” Iskall tries to pry the gloves open, but the older hermit won’t let go. It’s a vice grip, and when Iskall pulls his own fingers away, black mist trails behind. Trying to attach to even more power, the power surrounding it in two dozen different faces. 

Wels draws up his magic circle. “Stress! You’re the strongest of us! Get it out of his hand!” 

The azure circle is released, wrapping around the ice sorceress. Imbuing her with a strength buff. Iskall steps back, knowing not to get in her way. She digs her fingers between TFC’s. “Sorry, luv, but this really isn’t good fer yer health.” 

Stress’s fingers pull apart the guildmaster’s, prying free his metal gloved hand and wincing through the mist that catches on her. Crawling on her like a cobweb, searching for magic to steal. She finally gets all the fingers to release, grinding her teeth as the crystal is exposed. 

Jevin reaches out, encapsulating the dark gem in a mold of blue slime, hardening it into a thick casing. TFC collapses into the hermit’s warm embrace as soon as the crystal is punted away. “That thing needs to be destroyed now!” 

“But what about TFC? We need to get him to the infirmary.” Grian needs to take care of him, or at least try to help. He’s the healer- he needs to heal their resident grandpa and guildmaster. Stress, still imbued with the strength buff, picks up the larger man bridal style, aided by Ren and Scar in giving her a gentle slope to the bottom of the hill. The hermits race off, leaving behind only a few to deal with the crystal. 

Namely, Mumbo and Impulse. The two both watch the guild run to the infirmary room, but they know they will only add more bodies to the chaos. Impulse’s magic won’t do anything to help with that- but he is a master of destruction. And Mumbo, he knows he can’t help, and the last thing he needs to do is cause more issues. 

The two look at each other. “Guess we’ve set ourselves up to deal with the crystal.”


	8. Power Surge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team ZIT- and Mumbo- are left behind to handle the dark crystal. When even Tango's Hellbound magic and Impulse's explosion magic don't seem to work, can Mumbo get his own magic to even appear and help his friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au was created by hkpika- I just write

Tango and Zedaph were eventually kicked out of the infirmary, among other hermits. Now, only Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Ren, and Wels are in the building. Hermits settle back into their homes, but four stare at the blue orb sitting in the grass.

“It looks so innocent, tucked away in Jev’s slime.” Mumbo whispers, afraid to step closer.

“Like it didn’t just attack and nearly drain almost all of TFC’s magic and life.” Tango growls, teeth baring as he stares at the dangerous item. He works with dangerous magic, hellbound spells. But this isn’t like that. Hellbound magic takes power from the underworld. This takes power from other creatures. Living creatures, life sustaining magic stolen from their bodies. Sucking it up like it did TFC. And Gildara. 

“We need to take care of it.” Impulse rises from his crouch, an easy smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles. “Let’s get this thing out of our hair.”

Impulse flicks his hands, shocking yellow magic appearing in the air. He pulses the magic forward, and a concussive blast ripples from his hands. The ground blossoms red and orange, dirt tossed across the group remaining on the train grounds. 

But when the dust settles, the crystal is nestled in the crater Impulse blew apart. Slime had been eviscerated, only the black rock left behind. He tries another explosion, focused and sharp. Still nothing. Impulse sighs, knowing he needs help. “Tango, can you perhaps lend a hand, man?” 

Tango grins, cracking his knuckles and joining Impulse in the fight to break the gem. Leaving Zedaph with Mumbo. “Alright, I’ll put it to fire and you blow it to pieces. I got your back.” 

The two share a fistbump, and activate their respective magic in tandem. Tango’s pattern curls and pops red like a fire, while Impulse explodes yellow outward, shockwaves and blasts in his circle. Two impish smiles and fiery eyes look down at the tiny crystal.

And they don’t hold back. A wall of fire, so hot it turns blue, burning at the gem and it’s dirt surroundings. Warping the stone and dirt it nests within. Zed and Mumbo find themselves flung backwards by Impulse’s blast, their heads spinning and teeth rattling. Impulse and Tango managed to stay upright, hair sweeping back and feet dug into grass in an attempt to not meet a similar fate as their friends. Tango sees it first. “This stupid fucking gem won’t break!” 

Fire erupts around Tango, but he’s quick to tamper down any of his frustration, aided by his friends. Impulse and Zedaph join him, glaring at the crystal as they plot on how to destroy it. They don’t just want to break it- they want to obliterate it. The crystal siphoned energy from TFC, attacking him when he used it. Zedaph closes his eyes, grimacing as he remembers the black veins and pale skin that marred their guildmaster. His soft purple irises remain closed as Tango and Impulse continue.

“Maybe we can borrow False’s cannon?” Tango whispers. 

“I don’t think she’ll give us that ever again.” Impulse looks over his shoulder, seeing the dark oak and stone brick home, the forge nestled in the crook of the house. A part of the roof is new wood, but Tango and Impulse have still yet to fix the other hole in the back of the house. 

Zedaph opens his eyes, and sees Mumbo. Standing a distance away, shifting from foot to foot and watching the grass at his feet sway in the sea wind. Awkward and alone. “Hey Mumbo. You have lightning magic, right?” 

The multi-mage jumps back into reality, patting his foot over the indent he dug with his boots and tugging on the seam of his sleeve. “Oh, y-yeah. Not well, per se, but I have lightning magic.” 

“Maybe we can be a little cleverer- more clever? I dunno, whichever- about evicting this gem from existence.” Zedaph smooths his hair, nodding Mumbo to join the trio. “I’m not exactly the crystal guy, but gems tend to have a lattice structure to it, yeah?” 

“That’s what they taught us in middle school.” Tango chuckles. He tucks one hand under his forearm, still feeling the exciting energy of casting his magic. Hellbound magic was unstable, changing on a whim and easy to lose control. Not just of the magic, but of oneself. He spent years just training to keep himself in check, making sure he never falls victim to the nature of magic. Admit it’s danger, but find beauty in it, in the same way Zedaph sees a soul to shepard in even the most rabid animal, and Impulse can refine any explosion into art like a flower. 

“Well, if Mumbo can excite the lattice of the crystal, it will be less stable. You two can go at it with the booming and blazing, and bam! No more creepy gem wanting to take over our grandpa.” Zedaph rests his hands on his waist, looking around at the others.

Impulse and Tango are all in. Among the ZIT trio, Zedaph is the one with the craziest plans. The ones that always somehow end up working. But Mumbo isn’t so convinced. “You guys are placing a lot of faith on me and my magic. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it like you want. I can hardly even summon it.” 

Just to prove his point, Mumbo opens his hands. A wobbly red circle casts in each palm, before falling apart. Mumbo’s shoulders drop, and even the tips of his robes collars seem to wilt with his emotions. 

“Come on, Mumbo. We’ve seen your power- you’ve got more than most of us combined. You’re a multi-mage, that’s so cool man!” Impulse’s cheerful excitement exudes off him like sunshine, rippling out like an explosion’s heat. And just as energetic. 

“You’ve been training with Grian and Iskall, and when you really put your mind to it, you destroyificate them.” Tango adds, grinning as he remembers seeing those two cocky hermits get blown off their feet by the newbie. “That’s not one but two S-Class wizards you can easily hold off. This wimpy little crystal should be trembling in it’s cleavage.” Zedaph and Impulse can’t help but giggle at the word. Still immature adults. 

“Bu-but I can’t control when that happens. We haven’t figured out how to yet.” When he’s not training with Grian and Iskall, he’s digging through Joe’s library and talking with Xisuma. So much power, it takes so much to call upon, to release. It’s like breaking open a dam, and the power rushes out of him when he does. If he’s not careful, it can take control of him, instead of the other way around. 

“Just give it a shot. You never know until you try!” Zedaph pushes Mumbo in front of Tango and Impulse, and retreats. His magic isn’t exactly useful in this situation.

Mumbo’s quaking in his boots. “Oh, oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll just-” He raises his hand, fingers shaking as he draws up his sigil. A blossoming red lotus of redstone and electricity, flecks of magic falling away like embers. They drift into the sky, carried up towards the bright blue atmosphere and fluffy white clouds. Zedaph can’t help but notice that they look like sheep, his ungulate allies in the barn he calls home.

When he looks back down, the circle has been cast. But what the trio sees erupt from Mumbo’s hand looks less like a great bolt of red lightning, and more like a static shock stained ruddy. Mumbo whimpers, watching it disappear like the embers of his circle. He doesn’t have the courage to tell the trio he told them so, because he’s so focused on his own failure. 

“Aww, it’s okay Mumbo. Just try again- I’m sure you can do it.” Zedaph, dares to step forward, giving a hearty pat on Mumbo’s back. Zedaph grew up in the rural countryside around Foresta, where everything is rough. Calloused hands from years of farming give the tightest hugs.

And a weak city boy like Mumbo just wasn’t prepared for Zed’s strength. There was no malice, but his lanky body just couldn’t handle the slap on the back. He stumbles forward, hands catching himself on the ground- and sparking the magic deep within him. Magic flows freely from his fingers, redstone forming a circuit along the verdant grass and into the crater Impulse has created. Magic rushes through him, overwhelming each and every atom and fiber of his being. He doesn’t have control of his magic. His magic has control of him. 

The circuit connects to the gemstone, the dust illuminating and lightning ricocheting free from the trail. Mumbo blinks, his eyes filling with red light as magic takes over his whole body. So much magic, uncontained by a circle. 

“Guys, do it now!” Zedaph orders, noting the way the dark crystal rocks in the dirt. It glows from within, red light and lightning escaping the darkness of the opaque gem. Being ripped apart by Mumbo’s astounding magic. Zed knew Mumbo was strong- but this? This is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Including two different forms of magic. 

Impulse doesn’t waste a second. He waves his hand, casting a spell and snapping his fingers. The crater grows deeper as the dirt erupts in an explosion, smoke illuminated by deep red and yellow fire from Tango’s magic. They don’t stop, they don’t let up. Only when the dust settles and smoke clears away, Mumbo’s circuit going dead, does Zedaph dare to peek into the cavity caused by his friends. 

The crystal has been obliterated. All that’s left it dust, caught by the wind and scattered into the azure waves of the sea around them. Team ZIT celebrates the defeat of the crystal, grabbing one another and pouncing on their backs. Howling with joy and rubbing their knuckles rough into each other’s hair and back. Mumbo stands up silently, bolts of lightning escaping from his hands. Striking around him, turning the grass a burnt black color. And growing stronger.

“We did it, guys! We showed that stupid crystal it messed with the wrong guild!” Impulse cheers, his smile so wide across his face it hurts his cheek.

“Mumbo, dude, that was incredible.” Tango looks over Zedaph’s shoulder, brushing dirt off of the pink capelet. Mumbo doesn’t answer Tango’s compliment. He’s just standing in the grass, eyes closed. Zaps of lightning grow more frequent each second. “Mumbo?”

Zedaph steps away, pulling free of Impulse and Tango’s touch. He reels back as a bolt of lightning nearly hits his leg, all his blond hair standing on end. “Mumbo? Mumbo can you hear us?” 

Mumbo’s eyes snap open. But those grey irises, filled with inquisitivity and anxiety, are overshadowed by a glowing red. Sparks like static electricity crease free from his eyes, staring blindly out. Mumbo’s not in control of his magic. Impulse is the first to notice his feet losing connection with the ground. “He’s going into a power surge!” 

Impulse and Tango run into the lightning storm, each grabbing a sleeve of Mumbo’s black robe. Holding him down, their faces creased with pain when lightning courses into their body. They can feel the air turn to ozone, the scent of a storm on the horizon. Tango clenches his teeth, digging his heels into the ground. They shouldn’t have pushed Mumbo when he wasn’t ready. He needs to have control of his magic. “Zedaph! Do something!” 

Zedaph is already summoning his magic circle, the intricate spell requiring a number of motions to draw it up. Taking control of an animal is one thing. A human is something completely different. And a friend, more than anything. He hates having to remove their free will- but Mumbo isn’t in control. He has to do something. Impulse slips from his grip on Mumbo’s sleeve, fingers digging into the gold trim near the newest guildmember’s ankles. The grass is becoming further from Mumbo’s feet, weightless like a feather. 

“Mumbo!” Zed calls as he casts his spell. The two souls find a connection, Zedaph pulling on Mumbo’s soul. Trying to bring sense back from the senseless entropy of magic. Zedaph is standing still, but his face is contorted as he works to calm his friend down. He’s a shepherd mage, this is his job. To herd minds in the direction he so pleases. Animals, humans, he has the ability to speak to things beyond human language. To people beyond talk. To Mumbo, trapped and warped in his own magic. “Mumbo, calm down. Take control again.” 

Zedaph’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but to Mumbo it was a roar. His eyes blink away the red that blinded him, falling back to the ground with a stumble. His mind feels hazy, his body two steps ahead of his actual consciousness. Grass brushes against his hands, a gentle tickle against tingling skin. He finally looks up, and finds he’s not the only one on his knees. Zed has fallen down, his face pale but still smiling. 

Mumbo struggles to stand, struggles to understand what happened. Until he hears a crunch at his feet. He looks down, moving his boot out of the way. The blades of verdant green have been charred black, rocks and dirt flung aside. Like lightning struck the ground. “Oh, oh dear.” 

“It’s okay, Mumbo.” Zedaph whispers, wiping blood from his nose. “We got the job done, and that’s what matters. Good work, destroying the crystal. I knew you could do it.” His smile does little to ease Mumbo’s concerns.


	9. Burnt Parchment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief respite for the hermits, they all take the time to rest, train, and learn more. While Xisuma digs through the libraries for information on dark magic, Stress discovers an unnerving note far from home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU belongs to hkpika, check out his tumblr theguardiansofredland to see character designs!
> 
> Also if you notice that the rating changed and I added a 'graphic depictions of violence', it's mostly because of upcoming chapters that have already been written. I'm honestly not sure what the threshold of these rating are, but i want it to be a warning ahead of time... this is dark magic after all.

Xisuma hums to himself, fingers running along the books. Old leather soft and emblazoned with gilded letters, sharp parchment of scrolls cutting into his skin with new vigor. All kinds of books and tomes and tablets, collected among Joe’s library. It’s a well cared for collection, and Joe prides himself on all the knowledge stowed in his home. 

The only problem is how he sorts his books. Most librarians would use one of many systems developed by scholars, perhaps by genre or author’s last name. But no, Joe used his own strange system, a madness to his method. No matter what the other hermits do to fix his insanity among the stacks, he only shuffles it back. And Xisuma is stuck reading through the strange collection their resident poet has amassed. He blinks away as he reads something he’d rather not, and pulls free an aged scroll, adding it to the collection in his hands. 

Xisuma steps back, turning. His eyes fall across the large black lacquered cabinet settled in the corner of the poet’s home. Distant from everything else, even the azure blue bed that’s covered in half-written poems and spells. Cold metal brushes against X’s fingers as he unconsciously touches the wrought iron key. “Dark magic has to be somewhere in there.” 

He reluctantly opens the banned book cabinet. Joe isn’t a person to ban books just for being controversial. In fact, the poet loves to bring books other libraries wouldn’t dare hold. Knowledge that should be spoken, kept safe. Illegal works against the Council, exposes on guilds, lost history no longer taught in schools. If their island in the Ashioll sea was a sanctuary to the illegal guild, this library was a sanctuary to illegal words. 

But even some knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands. And if there’s anything X could call dark magic, it’s dangerous in any hand. Only one book among the darkened oak shelves gives him any hint to it’s contents including dark magic. A book about ancient magic. Why is this with the taboo tomes? Xisuma stands, tucking his armful of books close to his chest and donning his mask back on to face the sunlight.

Xisuma is a void wizard. He spends his days staring into the darkness of space, learning from the motions of dark matter and the void between stars. When others look to the light to discover truth, he can see everything beyond space and time, warped by the light others seek. X’s fingers run across a fractured part of his helmet. Where an insignia of a sun surrounded by spiraling void was dented out of existence. He can just barely feel the sharp triangular points of his brother’s symbol nowadays. 

He pulls the mask over his head, and braves the sunshine of his island home. In the distance, he can hear yelling, followed by the sharp clang of metal. The ground rumbles, and out of the corner of X’s vision he sees pillars of stone spire free from the grass. False and Scar are dueling, and Xisuma notices silver coins being passed between TFC and Cub. An easy smile appears beneath X’s mask. TFC was never one to stay holed up in the infirmary long. He’s still pale and weak from the crystal attack, but nothing would stop the guildmaster from being with his family. So long as he’s not using his magic, Xisuma won’t stop him. 

The fading black veins up TFC’s arm reminds Xisuma why he’s researching dark magic. After what happened to their guildmaster, their leader and father figure, Xisuma needs to know why it happened. And how to stop it from hurting any of his family. Ever again. Dirt crunches under his boots as Xisuma walks to the stone tower he calls home. The oldest structure, the first part of the island built up. When him and his brother fled into the mysterious sea, setting up the Order of Hermits. Fitting name, seeing as they’re the only ones brave enough- or stupid enough- to call the odd archapelago home. 

“Sheshwammy!” Keralis’s voice runs across the air like honey, but the magnitude of his voice causes Xisuma to jolt in his boots. A scroll drops, falling open and rolling across the dirt. Xisuma groans, tucking his chin to chase after the runaway parchment. Keralis aids him, scooping up the scroll and tightening the paper around the wooden rod. “Whatcha got there? A little bit of light reading?” 

“I wouldn’t call dark magic ‘light reading’.” Xisuma chuckles, plucking the scroll handed across from him. Keralis’s expression is quite alarmed. 

“Dark magic? Like spooky scary attacking crystal dark magic?” Keralis peers at the books in Xisuma’s hand. “Why are you trying to learn dark magic?”

“I’m not trying to learn it- I’m trying to learn about it. So...so things that happened in Gildara don’t ever happen here. Don’t ever happen to our island.” Keralis nods, nudging Xisuma’s shoulder to show it was all in jest. And the void mage feels like he can breathe. 

“Are you going to hole up in that tower of yours then?” Keralis watches X’s eyes through his visor, the crossed scars over his left eye. “Sheshwammy, come, let’s have some tea in my house! Soak in the sun, it’s good for you!” 

Keralis waves Xisuma to the glass hemisphere, tall grass and undergrowth flourishing in the massive terrarium. A single tree props up the glass from within, and a beehive thick with honey sits like fruit hung low from the tree. Black flecks buzz around among the terrarium, denizens of bugs flying in their habitat. To and from their food and wherever they make home within Keralis’s terrarium. When Keralis first showcased his magic to Xisuma, he admits he was freaked out. To gain magic by consuming bugs seemed...strange. But over time, it was no different than Joe’s poetry magic or Tango’s hellbound spells.

“Hello Suzy. How’s the hive today?” Keralis giggles, giving the fuzzy bee a pat. X stops at the door, watching Keralis file away some of his magical treats for later. “I was just coming to grab some more beetles before fighting Cleo, but this gives me an excuse to not face her now.” 

Xisuma sits down among the grass, the tall blades bending outward like a nest. Green and grey robes spread out, and Xisuma sets his pile of books on Keralis’s green bed. Keralis places a cup of tea in his hand, his friend remembering exactly how much sugar, honey, and milk he likes in his tea. Xisuma’s shoulders untense, remembering why he wanted a guild in the first place.

They weren’t just a team. They were family. They have each other. He’s not the only one worrying about TFC, others are taking good care of him. And they take good care of each other, including X. Xisuma swirls the spoon in his tea, blowing on the steaming drink and raising his head to feel the sun filter through the glass dome. His brother always wanted a family like this, but sometimes the sun shines too bright even for those who rely on it’s light. Every time Xisuma feels the warm rays on his brown hair, he thinks of his brother. 

But he always chases the thoughts out. That wimp left, ran away when things finally started to become real. Xisuma pulls the book on the top of the stack and forces it open. He flips to the page about magic law and illegal magic. 

Keralis peeks over Xisuma’s shoulder, trying to follow the insane speed the void wizard reads at. He doesn’t catch everything he sees, or understands most of what he reads, but the pages do reference the words he fears to be true. “Do you really think someone is practicing dark magic?” 

“I’m sure it’s dark magic. You saw how those husk people acted.” Xisuma picks up a book discarded to the side, pointing to a single paragraph. Hardly more than a line references the process of magic. “Dark magic is illegal for a reason- it steals power, killing the person who it’s stolen from. But none of these books talk about how it happens. There’s no mention of crystals, or the entire land devoid of life. A grey wasteland.” 

“What about this book?” Keralis sits in the grass, pulling up a massive, ancient leather book. “ _Plirus Mageia_.” The bug mage opens the book, dust spouting free of the yellow, torn pages and causing Keralis to cough. 

“Well, it says it’s complete, but does that really mean…” Keralis grins as he discovers dark magic listed in the index, flipping to the page. It’s Xisuma’s turn to peer over Keralis’s shoulder, watching the ancient pages flipping forward, deft fingers searching for the page number listed. Until they go past it. Keralis frowns, and flips back. And misses again. One by one, they look through the book. All that remains of the chapter on dark magic is ash, pouring into Keralis’s lap when he tips the book forward. “Someone doesn’t want dark magic to get out.” 

“Or someone doesn’t want anyone to know their secret.” Keralis whispers.

###### 

Stress packs the snow tight, pressing rosy pink lips onto the forehead of the snowman. One hand has her icy magic circle pressing against the torso. A little kiss like that sends magic surging through the white snow, each crystal and snowflake imbued with her power. The stone eyes blink and bluster against it’s cold body, and stick arms wiggle to life. “There you go lovely! Go explore! Watch out fer the edge!” 

Stress giggles as the snowman wanders across her icy island home. Just offshore of Eremita, she built her igloo under the cooling respite of an eternal snowcloud. She sits back, closing her eyes and feeling the chill touch of snowflakes falling on her pale cheeks. The cold water tickles her skin, clinging to the warm, fluffy grey fuzz that keeps her comfortable. She loves the cold, because it means she can cozy up in her warm robes, fluffy boots, and thick pants. She doesn’t have to worry about her hair being too long at her neck, or if she has too many blankets- which is never enough in her opinion. She’s known as a blanket thief, and it takes bribery to get them back. 

Snow crunches, the fresh layer depressing onto the white powder beneath it. Stress peeks open her eyes, and notices her new snow friend is waving for her attention, rock mouth mute to call for her. Rigid sticks flap back and forth, until the snowman knows it has her attention. It points a wooden finger down to the icy waters around her island. 

“What is that doin’ here?” Stress questions, standing up. She brushes the snow from her rear, watching the tiny boat rock against the ice chunks. She can only imagine if these enchanted sailboats had little itty bitty sailors, they’d look like massive icebergs, just before a frozen continent at the bow. “I thought these didn’t leave the cities.” 

Stress scoops up the wooden boat, fingers running along the smoldering fabric sail. The edges turn to ash upon her touch, embers eating further into the sail and smoking the wooden ship. It’s in bad shape, and Stress can’t figure out how such a little ship meant for messaging within a city made its way out here. Why is it burned?

She remembers the contents of the boat, pulling off a glove to squeeze her finger into the thin deck. Sure enough, a scroll was being carried by the scorched ship. The snowman at her side reaches for the boat, like a child desiring a toy. It’s wish is granted, Stress ignoring the boat in lieu of opening the parchment. 

It’s burned as well, and whatever edges aren’t black and charred are torn and tattered. On the backside, Stress can see printed letters torn through. It reminds her of when she went to school in Milliara, among the other noble children learning how to be good heirs, passing notes on torn sheets of their notebooks. The twine falls apart in her hand, allowing the burnt parchment to open. 

Stress gasps, letting the letter fall to the snow. She runs to the icy edge of her snowstorm, but the ice rises to meet her feet. Walking across frozen water beneath her shoes, until she’s on solid ground again. She doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate. She needs to tell the others what was on the paper. 

The parchment, burnt and soaked with snow, flutters in the warm Ashioll sea air. Blood for ink scrawls out two words.

> HELP DANES


	10. Danes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Danes, the valley of the Guild of Asklepion. The healers are under attack, and call upon the help of the hermits- legal or not, they’re the last hope to help a massacred guild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this au was started by hkpika- check out his tumblr at theguardiansofredland for art and design!

Down in the peaceful valley, tucked in the quiet hills of central Lairyon, a fire raged and roared. Flames burn like dragon tongues, lashing across the wooden stables and grass covered roofs, marigold petals curling and wilting from the sheer heat of the destruction. 

“Are we too late to help the Asklepions?” Ren whimpers, red light mirroring off his tinted sunglasses. His tail tucks between his legs, ears folding back as an ifrit squabbles across the verdant grass plains. The stout monster leaves a trail of fire in its wake, black husked form like smoke rising from the angry fire. 

A shrill cry, and a loud crack makes the entire guild jump. From the flames, a massive branch whacks the fire monster. Enough strength to send the husked remains of the ifrit crashing into the strong base of an oak tree. The husk falls apart upon impact, like a snowball struck against a hard surface. 

From behind the branch wielding wizard, a kipling stumbles over his feet and opens his arms wide. Water sprays across the fire, dousing the flame. Smoke roils free, masking the damage to its fullest extent. At least, what’s visible to the hermits on the hill. But they can see that the fire is only the latest damage dealt to the healing guild’s peaceful complex, Danes. A quiet monastery for recovery and recuperation needs it’s own bones fixed. 

The woman with the tree branch, white dress fluttering in the wind as a white flag, locks eyes with the hermits. Even from such a distance, the hermits can see her anger cross the healer’s face and her weapon rise up. The kipling grabs her arm, pulling it down and pointing at the group. False leans on her claymore. “Should we maybe go down there and not stare?” 

Through the plain of wildflowers and grasses, the hermits arrive at the smoldering remains of the retreat. “Who are you and why are you here?” The woman with the branch growls, raising the weapon above her springy black hair. “Are you the ones who keep sending these shadow monsters?” 

“Well that’s rude.” Etho grumbles, crossing his arms. Those aren’t shadow monsters. Shadow monsters are pretty chill, in his opinion. 

“No, no it’s not us.” TFC steps back, alarmed by the amount of harm the healing mage did to that ifrit. For a guild that pledges an oath to heal, she definitely did a lot of damage to the husk. 

“These are the people Galena sent the message to.” The Kipling waves to the group. “That little boat I had to send all the way to the ocean?” 

“A little late, but better late than never. I’m Iris, come on, we need to get inside before another patrol notices us.” Iris tosses her branch to the side. 

“I’m Micha, I’m so glad you got our letter.” He offers the first smile the hermits have had since they arrived, something lacking in such a once peaceful and tranquil place. 

“What happened here?” Grian questions, fluttering over the other hermits to talk. He feels like he should be in on this- he is the guild’s only healer. 

“It was our second attack today. Lucky for us, the only real trouble was that ifrit.” Micha responds, running a hand over the charred wood of a collapsed building. The grassy green roof has fallen to the side, slanting upwards like a sudden hill. It was burnt, but not in any way that would have knocked it over. 

“Nothing about this is lucky.” Iris growls. “We’ve been attacked for the past week by irrational, strong, ash grey monsters. They destroyed our infirmary, ruined the gardens and healing runes. And worse of all, we had to break our oath. We’re healers, not fighters.” 

“Well, lucky for you, we’re a jack-of-all-trades kind of guild.” TFC hums, stooping low and picking up the remains of a runestone, the carved mark shattered but a curve and a line visible. 

“How did your guildmaster know about us?” Grian questions, looking more to Micha than Iris. He knows when to push boundaries, and when someone is best left alone. Something he’s learned the hard way. 

Micha shrugs. “I’m not sure, but Galena wanted only you...who are you people?” Micha tilts his head, wavy blue hair cascading off his shoulders. 

“We’re the Order of Hermits!” Grian cheers, proud of his guild, his family. 

But Doc knows that doesn’t answer Micha’s question. “We’ve faced these husks before. I don’t know how your guildmaster learned of us, but we can handle this kind of threat.” 

“You’ve seen this before?” Iris turns, suddenly intrigued by the group. “How? Why? Did they attack your complex as well?” 

The entire guild goes quiet, looking at any other place than the woman before them. Eyes falling on the burned and broken buildings, weapons and corpses scattered about. Flakes of husks still swirl among the ash and charred homes. Cleo growls, the silence killing her all over again. “We were contracted by Magistrate Dolios, to investigate a town that was having issues. When we went there, we found the entire place was dead of life, like all color and energy was sucked from the ground.” 

Iris tilts her head back. “That’s definitely not what’s happening here. Apart from the burnt buildings, everything here is still green and alive.” 

“You haven’t seen a creepy, adamantine crystal that sucks life up and attacks with spooky black mist?” Joe scribbles notes in his journal, the feather tip of his quill wiggling back and forth at his furious writing. Iris draws a perturbed stare at the poet wizard, and that’s all the answer he needs. 

“But there were people there. Or, what remains of what we can only call husks of people. Ashen, grey and flaky. Like that ifrit. They attacked us for no reason.” Cleo adds, catching Iris back on their story. 

“So...how’d you stop them?” Micha questions, motioning for them to continue to follow towards the guild hall. 

“We...didn’t really.” Cub rubs his neck, biting his lip. “We were outmatched, we didn’t know what to do at the time. I portaled them away, and we escaped.” 

“You survived, that’s what matters.” Micha soothes, brushing the white toga he wears, reminding himself and the disgruntled Iris of their position as healers. “What did magistrate Dolios do when you told him what you saw?” 

“Nothing. He sent us away, and did nothing. He didn’t even pay us.” Iskall hisses. “What a mega douche.” 

“That’s an understatement.” A shaken, elderly voice rises above Micha and the creaking noise of their guild halls opening. “At least you answered my plea for help.” 

The guild turns, peering into the dark halls. Across the overturned chairs and broken chandeliers, past the tables turned hospital beds. But the guildmaster is regal, even in her worst hours. Wisened eyes and a kind, wrinkled face is framed by silver hair. The old woman rises from her chair, her movement surprisingly agile despite her age. Fingers curl around her staff, the gemstone at the peak glowing as she moves. TFC recognizes the crystal as labradorite- an enchanted staff. Clever. 

“You spoke with the Council as well?” Xisuma tilts his head. She doesn’t look like she can walk from her bed to the bathroom without help, much less all the way to Milliara. 

“When these ‘husk’ attacks all started, we were hundreds strong.” Galena motions her staff to the expansive guild hall. “The Asklepions are masters of healing, many of us hailing from the great schools of Edenswell. As you can see now, there is hardly more than a dozen of us left, and no amount of pandering or begging can get the council to aid us.” 

“They wouldn’t help a healing guild?” Grian frowns, pouting with his arms crossed.

“They wouldn’t help a legal guild?” Doc raises his eyebrows.

“You guys aren’t legal?!” Iris squawks, shushed by Micha. She’s left to grumble, stalking off into the dredges of the guild hall. 

“I first went to the council. Magistrate Dolios turned down my request, the bastard.” Her thin lips curl, pleased to say such a dirty word. “I went to the Council guilds, each and every one of them. The same answer. There was only one person who could help us, one person above even the Council.” 

“King Sor.” Stress whispers. 

“Smart girl. Most don’t remember a time when the crown had a say in the nation’s dealings. Not since Dolios rose to power.” Galena nods her head slowly. “I went to King Sor, begged for him to help.” 

“And he said no as well?” Etho takes an educated guess, seeing the disaster the Asklepions are in now. 

“He said yes. Such a kind young man, a good king. Only wants the best for his people. King Sor expressed concern, fear for us. He wanted to help.” 

“So why didn’t he?” TFC tilts his head. The king could have easily sent the entire arcane guard to put an end to all of this.

“When the young king expressed his concern about these husk attacks, the entire throne room was swarmed with the Arcane guard- not the royal guard. They ushered King Sor from the hall, and promptly arrested his advisor, Tristea.” Galena closes her eyes, breath shaking across wrinkles. “I have never seen such fear in a person’s eyes than what I saw in Sormena’s eyes, I swear I saw his hair turn a mix of blue, purple, and copper.” 

The hermits share furrowed, concerned expressions mirrored across all their faces. Mumbo and Stress glance at each other, mouthing the name of their king. Who they both remember when he was just a prince. They both attended his coronation, what felt like a whole different life ago. Sor was always concerned about others, but he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. This Sor Gelana speaks of is nothing like the one they knew. 

“So you’ve been fighting the husks all on your own? No arcane guards? Just…” Doc motions around at the destroyed guild hall. The last bastion to the dozen or so healing mages that remained. “Just a bunch of peaceful healers with no offensive magic?” 

“You’d be surprised how clever we healers can get when backed into a corner.” Iris growls. “We may not like it, but we’ve been able to hold our own, at least the best we can. My magic can set bones- but it can also break them.” She clenches her fist, causing Keralis to jump back. He swears he can hear the sound of a bone snapping, but no one cries out in pain. 

“But even then, we aren’t enough on our own.” Micha shakes his head. “That’s why we need you. Do you think you can help?” 

TFC looks around, at the dark hall. A hall that once was filled with life, with white robed healers mingling among patients and fellow guildmembers, sharing their meals in the warm glow of torches on the ancient wood tables that stretched down the hall. Now, the torches are out and the seats are empty, tables for food now makeshift hospital beds and barricades against the doors. This place is nothing like Gildara. If anything, it’s worse. There was no sign of struggle in Gildara, only a lack of life. But here, he can see the life fading, burnt and broken. And with each healer, each guildmember that dies, they take a bit with it. Filling the land with death. 

Whatever these husks are, whatever kind of dark magic they’re from, it steals life, and leaves only death. “We-” 

The door behind the hermits slams open, heavy oak bouncing off the aged wood walls. A lithe man is gasping for breath, blood coating his white alb and ash clinging to the hem. Half of the healers jump into action, drawing their circles and weapons. Every single hermit brandishes their own magic, waiting to see if the man is a husk or human. 

He lifts his head, revealing deep brown eyes and a feverish face. “They’re back. On the Western rise. More than I’ve ever seen.”


	11. NOT CHAPTER- Questions and Updates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a real chapter...just some questions about the future of this work

I'm sorry to ask this but my collaborator and I have been wondering if anyone even reads or wants more updates to this? 

We don't mean to be pushing this on you guys. We just want people to enjoy our work as much as we enjoy making it. I'm really sorry about this update, but we're just trying to find out what to do next. If we should bother continuing


	12. Ashes in Asklepion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm grows in the Valley of Danes, dark skies and death waiting to bear down on the hermits and their new allies. This time, they won’t run from the husks. This time, they fight
> 
> **Warning: Minor character death, battle scene**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au was made by HKpika, check out his designs on tumblr at theguardiansofredland!
> 
> Also we want to say thank you all for your kind words and support, we weren't sure if anyone wanted this, but after all the comments and support that you people showed, it's given us the joy to keep going. I love writing and creating with Red, and getting to share it with all of you and seeing the reactions is our favorite thing.

“They’re just standing there.” Wels whispers, pulling his sword to rest on the metal pauldron of his armor. “Like...like…”

“Like an army at attention.” False finishes. A whole line of husk monsters, grey flakes falling off monochrome forms. Devoid of life both in color and eyes. They were just that- husks. The remains of an animal, without soul or life to brighten the beast.

Tango opens his wings wide, and takes off into the air. Behind the hermits, the remaining members of the Asklepions are steeling themselves for another battle. Scar bites his lip, looking at the dirt and bloodstained white robes. None of these people should be fighting for their lives. None of these people should be using their healing powers to kill. Whoever is using this dark magic, using it against a peaceful guild like this, is a sick soul. Who even attacks a healing guild? They hold no danger. 

Tango returns to solid ground. His broad red wings brush against the ashen dirt, smoke curling into the sky as embers reignite with the air around it. “I don’t see a crystal, I don’t see anything like what we saw in Gildara.” 

“Do you know when they’ll attack?” TFC questions, turning to Galena. 

The elderly healer nods her head, and points to the sky above the army. “Do you see that dark cloud? It is no storm, it is billowing ash, rising like an eruption from a volcano. Upon the first strike of red lightning, it will send the army into a frenzy. And they will attack. The thunder is their war horn. We don’t have long.” 

“Scar, Stress, Ren, and Joe. Go and help build up defenses as quickly as possible.” TFC waves a hand in the direction of the guild hall, the black veins still visible on his healing arm. “Focus around where the wounded are hiding. Impulse, Iskall, and BDubs- I want you to set up traps. Hopefully we can slow them down, or get rid of at least a few.” 

“Can’t there be a way to free these creatures from the dark magic?” Micha questions, holding his hands to his chest. “It hurts me to see them in such pain, but death?” 

“They’re already dead.” Xisuma states. “There is no soul, no life left in those creatures. Dark magic is just puppeteering them.” 

Micha steps back, lip quivering. Zedaph offers a warm smile, understanding the kipling’s worries. But Iris’s jaw clenches, fingers wrapping around a brand new weapon- a hoe. “I’m tired of waiting to die! I’m tired of waiting for them to attack us!” 

Iris lets out a hoarse yell, and streaks past the hermits. She jumps through a rising wall of stone, crossing the field of flowers and raising her tool high. “Iris no!” 

Lightning strikes. And the horde washes forward, down the hill, ashen forms of monsters and beasts roiling like a wave across the burnt grass. Smoke kicking up from the hooves and paws and claws, digging into the ruined soil, hungry for death. Iris’s magic circle appears, as white as the dress she wears, brushing outward and towards the snapping maws before her. The equine legs of an uisage, once sea-green fur a withered grey the color of a storm at sea, snap under the weight of her magic. 

And jaws snap into Iris. The deadly fangs of a chimera, venom dripping from the fangs, grab hold of the young healer. The entire valley of Danes falls silent, the Hermits unable to take their eyes away from the sight as Iris falls still, her form losing it’s color. 

Losing it’s life. Sapped from her, leaving only the husked form of the wizard behind. By the time the chimera has let go, training it’s eyes on the remaining living targets, Iris is gone- yet still standing. The husk remains of Iris rolls it’s shoulders, skin the color of flint. Even the stains on it’s dress had lost all color, all life. A few flecks of ashes brush into the sky as it blinks, eyes devoid of any life. There were no irises on Iris- no soul left to fill it’s eyes. 

It’s fierce gaze is turned back on the hermits and Iris’s once fellow healers. The husk’s hand reaches out, and a magic circle appears. Just as corrupted and erratic as the husk the hermits faced way back in Gildara. Realization hits Wels first. “Get down!” 

He grabs False by the arm, pulling her to the side a breath before the released magic strikes her. It doesn’t miss, instead lashing into a healer. The sickening crack of bones rattles across the broken complex surrounding them. The other hermits roll away from the magic, Stress leaping from her broken ice wall and tucking into a roll. The swarm of monsters have reached their defenses. The massive body of grootslang careens into Scar’s stone walls. It’s twisted tusks dig into the ground and attempt to rip through the material. One tusk breaks off, the debris falling apart like ash and clay. The jagged end spews smoke, but the monster doesn’t stop, continuing to throw it’s weight against the walls. 

The hermits fall back, bracing for the sieged gates to collapse. Wels pulls free his sword, metal glimmering as he conducts magic through the blade to buff his allies. BDubs wraps his arms in vines, hearing the crunching noise of Keralis snacking and activating his powers. Jevin waves his hand, magic swirling to life before him, and a squadron of blue slime warriors collect together, standing at attention. Ready to fight. Team ZIT bump their fists, embers of magic and mischief sparking free from each one’s hand. Cleo and False brandish their own weapons, and from behind Iskall and Grian snap their fingers, circles appearing in their hands. Mumbo attempts to call his own magic, but it stutters with each crack of stone and ice. 

The ice has nearly collapsed. Mumbo whimpers, drawing his circle again. It fails once more. His hands are shaking as he presses the pad of his index finger into the air. A wrinkled hand rests on Mumbo’s sleeve, warm and comforting. Galena whispers her finger close, completely ignoring the impending army. Mumbo kneels down, letting the elderly healer whisper in his ear. “I know you can do it, sonny boy. Take a deep breath-” She breathes in, “and let out all those worries.” 

When her voice exhales, Mumbo blinks away magic cresting his long, black lashes. His hands have stopped shaking, his heart stopped pounding. He attempts to draw his circle again- it works. “Wha-what did you do? Did you buff me, give me strength?” 

“Not all healers deal in physical wounds. But in the end, it’s up to the body to heal itself- we just help it along.” Galena smiles, and steps back. 

Ice cracks and stone shatters, raining down upon the healers and hermits. Joe brushes his quill to the side, and the debris goes flying, as if smacked by a giant’s hand. Grian blows away the remaining bits and pieces, until only pebbles bounce off their heads. They have more important things to focus on. 

The army of husks surge through the opening. Immediately, a tarasque barrels through the hermits. A spiny shell tears at cloaks and bowls over those who don’t jump away fast enough. Grian and Tango take to the sky, red and white wings beating against the air. Grian waves down to Cleo. “A pack of kishi are coming in on your left!” 

Cleo turns, green lips curling into a smile. She pulls her captain’s hat low. Strikes her blade into the ground. If there was one thing a healer’s complex had, it was ghosts, ghouls, and skeletons. Misty white and sickly green transparent beings rise from the ground. All Cleo has to do is point her sword. The undead attack the possessed, ghosts haunting forms and skeletons charging into battle. 

Black and green robes flutter above Cleo, and Xisuma tosses a spell into the horde of kishi. The ravaging, two faced pack of monsters are engulfed by the void The ghosts and skeletons remain. Xisuma’s magic is as precise as everything else he does. His boots scrape against the stone walkway, landing next to Cleo. “You distract and I’ll engulf?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Cleo grins, and the two take off into battle. They run past Stress, Ren, and Iskall. Iskall thrusts his fist into the stone, the ground erupting as radioactive iskallium seeps up into the attacking monsters. The green goo erupts upward, and with a giggle Stress freezes the material. Ren closes his eyes. His imagination goes to work. The ruddy color of his circle fuses into magical wheels, and he sends the imagined cart trundling into the monsters. Spiking the radioactive ice into a drake, a hippogriff, and two lavellans. The husk forms collapse into piles of ash, dark magic billowing with the forms. Swept into the wind and away from the valley. 

The battle continues on. Lifesavers become lifetakers, healers fighting side by side with the hermits. An illegal guild fighting next to one of the most renowned licensed healers in the world. At first, they were winning. Defeating the husks as fast as they arrived, only a few scratches and wounds delt across the survivors. 

At first. In the clash of battle, Doc hears a shout. The elongated fangs of a many-mouthed cipatli digs into his metal arm, but he ignores the gnashing teeth against the wires and magical components of his arm in lieu of finding the source of the scream. Through the battle, past the explosion of Impulse as he leaps away, Micha is on the ground. 

The husk of Iris looms over him, black magic circle spun and ready to release. Doc pushes through the battle, rushing forward and ripping off the scaly husk on his arm. He can hear Micha begging, calling out to Iris. “It’s me, your friend! Iris, please you have to be in there! You know me, I’m Micha!” 

The husk doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch. His words are falling on deaf, unhearing ears. Iris’s thumb comes to rest on her middle finger, pressing down and ready to snap. Ready to release it’s magic and surely do something horrible to Micha. 

Doc isn’t going to let that happen. He growls, and thrusts his own hand forward. A stone statue creaks, and rises from her pedestal. Gigantic arms, cloaked in smooth marble robes, rise up into the ashen sky. Doc closes his eyes.

And opens the stone statue’s. He can see through her eyes, see the husked remains of Iris standing at her feet. WIth little second thought, he punts the husked remains away from Micha. Iris disappears in a puff of ash and smoke, form released from the dark magic that sapped her energy. Her soul. 

Doc straightens the statue’s back, the ten foot tall form looming over the fight before him. He watches Micha stand, only for one of his fellow healers to fall. Doc steps forward, watching as Grian falls from the sky. Struck by the massive wings of a Roc, and thrown into the collapsing roof of a building. For being the group’s healer, he had a way of getting himself hurt. 

They were at a stalemate. Hermits just barely keeping the husks from moving further, bracing their wounded bodies against the monsters and losing ground as fast as they gain. He could even see himself, standing stock still in the middle of the battle. Scar was at his side, haphazardly throwing up a wall around the body of his friend. Protecting his physical form while his mind was within the statue he controls. 

TFC steps back, watching as the massive stone statue throws it’s weight against the grootslang, tussling with it in a fight worthy of the ancient ones. He can see they aren’t winning- but they aren’t losing either. Last time, they fled the dark magic. They didn’t understand it. But this time, they can’t run. They have to protect the valley of Danes, and the few remaining healers left. How can they turn the tide? 

TFC watches Etho jump from shadow to shadow, landing blows against any unsuspecting husk. He tips his head up, looking at the darkened storm above the monsters. And an idea sparks like a flash of lightning. “Grian, use your wind magic against the storm above you!” TFC calls out to Grian, watching the winged hermit pry himself free from the collapsed building he was flung into. “Joe, can you summon something big to control the weather?” 

“You betcha.” Joe pulls out his quill, sidestepping a raging ngepet. The wind picks up around him, Grian’s wings pulsating and picking up force with each sweep. Joe doesn’t bother himself, letting his quill glide along his paper, writing out a poem as his elaborately embroidered cape snaps against his legs. “One big bird coming right up.” 

He signs the last letter of the poem, and from the storm a shadow appears. A thunderbird, with the caw as sharp as lightning, joins Grian in collapsing the storm. Sunlight seeps through, and when TFC looks back at the fighting hermits, he sees the tide has turned. The storm weakens, as does the husks. They don’t stop fighting, even taking down another healer and slashing a cut into Zedaph’s arm, but they’re losing. 

The husks don’t back down, even when the last monster is backed into a corner. Snarling and on full offensive. Something about dark magic must make them violent beyond thought. No sense of self preservation- TFC can only guess since it’s already dead, what more is there to lose? 

The last of the smoky grey ash cloud disappears, and False strikes down the ngepet that earlier tried to take out Joe. Silence falls across the gardens, only the sound of wind and Doc’s statue returning to her pedestal as commentary to the scene before them. They killed the entire army, drove off the storm. But not without heavy losses. Galena helps the only surviving healer from the fight to his feet- Micha. “Thank you, hermits. You...none of us would be around if it wasn’t for you all.” 

“Do you think the invasion is over? Is Danes safe?” Doc questions, stumbling back into his form. Blinking his eyes, rolling his broken robotic arm. 

Galena nods. “That was them all. You did more than I could’ve ever hoped for.” Galena looks around, at the shattered remains of her guild. Her home destroyed, her members gone. “My best decision ever was to reach out for you.” 

“I’m sorry, I wish we could do more.” Grian whispers, holding his arm into place. He may have dislocated it. 

“The Asklepions may be in ruins, but we are much harder to destroy than you think. We will rise from the ashes, like a phoenix.” Galena whispers. “This is not the first time I have seen a guild rise and fall around me. Even among the Council guilds.” 

Xisuma perks up, curious. “You were in a council guild?” 

Even Micha looks surprised. Galena nods him away, off to check on the wounded back in the guild hall. “Long, long ago. Yes, I was a member of a Council Guild. That was before things changed, when Lairyon was a different place.” Galena turns away. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can offer you money for your hard work. But...what about something a little more valuable?” 

“What do you know, guildmaster Galena?” Xisuma, ever hungry for more knowledge, is practically on his knees to hear more. 

“Dark magic like this needs a mage to control it. And that mage needs somewhere to hide their work. Where better to hide forbidden magic than under the very noses of the leaders who forbid them?” Galena shakes her head, running withered fingers along the crystal in her staff. She glances back at the hermits, a youthful glimmer in her eyes. “When I was younger, there were always rumors of dungeons beneath the capitol. I never found anything, but you all are quite clever- when you put your heads together.”


	13. Family Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe on their home island of Eremita, the hermits need to practice, grow their magic stronger. A day in the life of the illegal guild of hermits includes food- practice- more food- practice- contemplating of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this au is the creation of the wonderful Red, check him out at theguardiansofredland on tumblr!.
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos, hits, and comments! I'm going to try to answer every comment from now on, so if you have something to say, please drop a comment!

The Order returned to their island, healed by the remaining Asklepions and left with more questions than answers. They know almost nothing more about dark magic, despite fighting it twice now. When they thought husks only appeared around crystals, Danes proved they can move. When they believed they understood why a husk appeared, the monsters just tore apart their theories. 

One thing they did learn from the two experiences is they need more training. More experience, especially against dark magic. The hermits were strong, but the forces of darkness were stronger. But before any of them can take on each other, they first need to take on breakfast.

Which is a challenge in itself. Half of the hermits want to jump right into training, ignoring the guild hall and insistence of TFC. The other half are easily enticed by the scent of food. 

Grian is practically vibrating in his seat, to the point that Iskall has to reach out and press his hand on the blond hair to keep him seated. “Who thought it was a good idea to give him syrup?” 

“It’s not the breakfast, I can’t wait to get back to sparring!” Grian grins, turning to Mumbo. “You ready for another round of quickdraws?” 

Mumbo groans, head falling back and mouth falling open. “Gri, you know I can’t quickdraw my magic circle.” 

“Like, at all, dude.” Iskall hums, picking the skin off an orange. 

“That’s how you’ll get better! Learn by doing!” Grian points out. He knows that Mumbo struggles with his magic- it’s a lot of magic to handle, being a multi-mage. But he’s seen Mumbo’s strength, he sees the potential in his best friend. And only someone as equally powerful as him, like Grian, can take on that power. Once it shows itself. 

Stress walks by, rolling up her sleeves and brushing the rat’s nest from her hair. She sits down next to False, squeaking as the sharp slice of rock against metal cuts into the air. Stress realizes the shining alloy isn’t a plate. “False, haven’t we said before- no weapons on the tables?” 

“It’s no used weapons. This is brand new, just finished forging it last night.” She picks the chakram by the handle in the center, tossing the disk blade across the table to Wels. “Why don’t you give it a try today?” 

Wels laughs, giving the weapon a slice and a spin. “Let’s see Etho dodge this.” 

Etho, hearing his own name, abruptly stands up from his seat and scurries into the nearest shadow, a strip of bacon shoved into his mouth as he pulls up his mask. Doc and BDubs only laugh, divvying up the remains of Etho’s breakfast. 

Under the quiet seats under the massive oak, as old as the island itself, Keralis and Xisuma are studying. Keralis stopped by his family’s bookstore on the mainland, sifting through ancient tomes in hopes of finding something about dark magic. 

“Ugh, why does no one write about dark magic, sheshwammy?” Keralis growls, his thick south Lairyon accent struggling to say Xisuma’s central name. 

“Probably because it’s illegal to practice it, so no one knows anything about it.” Xisuma sets down another book, picking up the egg sandwich he made and taking a frustrated bite. “Though someone obviously does. But we need proof that this is dark magic, written proof.” He knows they can’t stop it themselves- that’s the arcane guard’s job. But after seeing all of Gildara abandoned, and most of the Asklepions killed, the least he can do is this. 

“You really think the pen is mightier than the sword?” False questions, raising an eyebrow. She presses her knife into the sausage patty on her plate, daring Joe to answer.

“I mean, when my pen can make a giant magic sword with fire and lightning, yeah.” Joe grins, pressing his chin to his open palm. A dangerous glint appears behind his glasses, and he uses the other hand to push them up. Sun reflects off the spectacles, making it impossible for False to see anything beyond the smirk and the light- infuriating her. 

“Cleo,” False grabs the pirate by her long coat and dragging her into the conversation. Without the paladin here to back her up, she needed someone else with a way with words. “You get what I’m saying. Tell me your blade there wouldn’t completely destroy Joe in a fight. I mean, all I’d have to do is cut up that journal of yours and your magic is useless!” 

“Well, Joe does have a point. Sure, your forged weapons are the best in the kingdom, and Joe is screwed if he ever has to face you without his magic.” Cleo pauses, watching the two. “But I’m inclined to believe that words should come before violence- which is why anytime Mr. Joe of the Hills here refuses to finish his breakfast, I remind him with my words that I’m going to break his knees before i actually do.” Cleo pulls out her sword, setting the tip on the wood table. 

Joe shoves the last of his pancakes into his mouth, quick to retreat from Cleo. He was asking for trouble with False, but he knows any of the women could easily kick his ass. Even as an S-Class. “Hey False, why don’t we take this debate to the training field, see how mighty the sword is to the pen?” 

“You can’t escape me forever, Joe!” Cleo calls, watching as the two S-Class mages run down the hill and onto the latter half of the island. Their home island, Eremita, was separated into two parts. The southern side of the island lays claim to where the hermits live. An odd mix of towers and forges, ships and caves. It was up to the hermits to chose their own style of household- which created some disunion of the overall complex, but allowed for each member to express themselves. Everyone helped, whether Scar packed stone bricks or False forged iron nails. 

The other half of the island, however, was left mostly untouched. A large field of grass, combed by the salty sea air, dotted with targets and barriers. A dirt circle cuts into the field, where hermits can duel one on one. Beyond the field, a large pond expands like an eye to the face of the island. Caressing the other shore, a dense forest grows on a slow rise of a hill, before stopping at the edge of the cove of a broad, sandy beach. It was a perfect home, a perfect place for an illegal guild to lay claim. 

Training grounds quickly filled with groups and teams, even TFC getting in on strengthening himself. He wasn’t going to let some little rock keep him down for long. “Hey Cub, lets show these guys a thing or two about magic.” 

The two silver haired, bearded men join the others well settled into today’s training. Deep in the forest, a soft explosion can be heard, followed by the giddy laughter as Zedaph leaps from tree to tree. Tango and Impulse struggle to follow him, and the birds diving for their heads don’t help. At the interface between trees and grass, Doc and Jevin have teamed up to amass an army. Objects under the devious control of Doc’s puppeteering magic, violent and unshaken to mimic the husks they fought. Jevin’s slime soldiers add bodies to the battle, flanking Iskall, Ren, and Xisuma. Hiding behind a barrier, Etho is waiting for the sun to reappear and for shadows to return, ducking his head as the chakram whizzes past. Despite his terrifying predicament, he has a coy smile on his face. 

In the field, BDubs is practicing his aim with Scar, shredding apart haybales with their unique magic. Plants grow from one, thorns dug deep into the tightly bound material. The other has been knocked over and crushed by a boulder, Scar cheering his success. And in the center of the dueling ring, Mumbo and Grian stand still as stone. The quietest Grian ever has been. In a flash, as simple as a shift in the wind’s direction, Mumbo rushes to summon his circle. A second later, he’s blown off his feet, Grian grinning with blue embers fading away from his fingers. Mumbo groans, rubbing the dirt stained fabric on his rear. “You couldn’t have given me a few seconds? It’s not like I’d ever win.” 

Grian offers an easy smile, waving Mumbo closer. “Come on, let’s practice the basics again. I know you can do it, friend.” 

The hermits continue into the afternoon, only stopping their training briefly for lunch under the cool relief of the oaken guild hall. Groups disband and reform, training and practicing and learning from each other. Trying to be better, stronger together. So that next time they come face to face with an enemy, or the dark magic, they can win. They will win. 

No guild is quite like the Order of Hermits. Apart from being illegal, they’re a mix of just about every kind of magic. A healing mage like Grian can stand side by side with Cleo’s underworld magic, no set skill required on requested. Varying strengths train side by side, not separated from better or worse. They all have something to learn from each other, even the strongest S-Class can be surprised by the newest mage. And often, Grian is. The magic is just as diverse as the people, the hermits that call Eremita home. 

Training is cut short by a squall, appearing like magic and blowing across the Ashioll sea. Broiling grey clouds engulf the sun, and quickly send the hermits scattering into shelter. Well, most of them. The ZIT trio remained wrestling in the mud, and BDubs couldn’t help but join in. 

Wels returns the chakram to False, a number of other hermits huddled around the blasting heat of False’s outdoor forge, nestled under the stone roof. Stress jumps back as an ember sparks out, nearly catching the trim of her robes. She rubs her exposed arms, the warm material of her fur coat wrapped around her waist. So much for the hot summer day. 

Joe and Cleo have made up, and are plucking books from his library to read as the rain pours down, laughing as they watch Ren skitter away to his home, ears and tail tucked.

Xisuma sits at a window, looking out across the clouded green sea from his tower. He chose the Ashioll sea for a reason to make this his home. To start a guild here. No one else dared called these waters home. Old magic, magic so wild and arcane that not even the kiplings can control, residing here in these waters. Merchant vessels and battleships avoid the sea, and even the hermits don’t have every island mapped out. Though Grian and Xisuma are working on it. The sea was their safe haven, the island their home. 

Xisuma turns his head, glancing at the white envelope on his desk. The yellow seal bearing a sun remains unbroken. He’s not ready to think about his brother. He knows he could have valuable information, and is likely concerned about him, but he can’t bear to open the letter today. He turns his head back to the storm, watching lightning streak across the sky, smelling the scent of the void left behind by the bolts. He doesn’t need his brother- he has his own family, right here. 

They’ll do this, without Ex.


	14. From the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eremita, the island the hermits call home, has always been their safe haven. No one dares to enter the Ashioll sea. They are safe on Eremita.
> 
> Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU created by HKpika, check him out at theguardiansofredland on tumblr!

Etho hates night. Funny, for a shadow ninja mage. Except that the night has no shadows, unless the moon is bright. People always think that shadow means darkness, but Etho knows it’s the exact opposite. Shadows need light.

Either way, he hates the night. And walking back from Xisuma’s tower, he huddles close to the lantern he carries. At least the wind has died down from the storm, though the dirt paths that traverse from home to home are muddy and clinging to Etho’s shoes. Ugh, those are going to be a pain to clean, the fabric takes forever to dry. 

A rustling noise in the tall grass brings him out of his internal complaining, and Etho raises his lantern to see farther ahead. The grass at the edge of the beach shifts, a low groan escaping the darkness beyond. Etho groans. “Cleo, if this is another prank of yours, it’s not working. You can’t prank me.” 

No answer. Etho steps closer. “Or maybe it’s Grian. May I remind you that time I let you sleep in when you were supposed to be training? I’m cashing in that good favor.” Still nothing. “Grian?” 

A fireball erupts from the grass, sending Etho diving into the dirt to avoid his hair being set on fire. The projectile crashes into the stone roof of TFC’s cave, embers falling off and onto the grass below, where it fizzles away on the wet ground. For a second, Etho wonders if it’s Tango pulling the prank. He wouldn’t be surprised- the ZIT trio has had their hand in a number of pranks on the island. 

But the form that appears from the grass is none of Etho’s friends. The grey form saps all the warmth from Etho’s lantern, tattered remains of a robe falling apart as the husk wizard moves. Empty eyes of the soulless remains lay on the shadow wizard, and fire collects in the husk’s hand. Aiming for Etho. 

Just enough fire for a shadow to be cast. Seconds before he almost becomes roast ninja, he sinks into the shadow realm. Racing across the dimension, he finds the next closest shadow- False’s forge. “False! We’re under attack!” 

False snorts awake, bouncing her head off the stone oven behind her. At the single word ‘attack’, she’s on her feet. The blacksmith grabs the nearest weapon, a sakura yari, swinging the three pronged spear at the nearest threat. The tip of the blade was still burning red. “Where is it, who is it? Are they pirates, zombies? Zombie pirates?” 

“We already have one of those, and she’s on our side! There’s husks on the island.” False blinks away the sleep lingering in her eyes, tossing the half made spear in lieu for her claymore. 

“I’ll wake up Impulse and Tango, you go get the others awake.” False orders, and the only two awake hermits split apart again. 

Well, two of three. Of course, the local poet was awake, quill running across his non-magic journal. Writing poems and essays for no reason other than he likes to. Joe will admit it was his...guerrilla tactics of writing and the passive aggressive nature of his works that got him kicked out of his past three previous guilds. Lucky for him, the hermits thrive off his witty nature and smarmy quips, whether they be elegant or crass. He hardly looks up when he hears the sound of howling, teeth snapping. He leans back, looking at the ink on his journal in the dying candlelight. Once he feels satisfied with the way his words weave together in his poem, he sets it down. 

And notices the fight going on outside. His glasses jolt off his nose, the library shaking and shifting to the noise of an explosion. Joe sighs, seeing hellfire rips across the pathways, greenery, and gardens in the center of the hermit’s living quarters. Tango really can’t hold himself back, can he? 

Joe stands, shutting his book and placing it on the bed stand. He digs the feather to rest along his ear, pinning it in place with his glasses. He brushes the grumbs of his late-night snack off his pajama pants, and steps outside. 

“Hey Joe!” Zedaph calls, riding atop the back of a peryton. “How’s a little late night fighting for you?” 

Zedaph points forward, and his small army of local wildlife charges. Joe blinks the weariness from his eyes, and jumps into action. The husks appear from the darkness, flanking Impulse in the smoke his explosions have created. Well, it’s a good thing he has his quill. 

If there’s one thing Etho’s glad about, it’s Impulse and Tango’s bright magic. The fires of Tango’s hellbound magic, the bright blossoms of Impulse’s explosions, they cast bright shadows all across the island. One second Etho’s racing from False’s forge, the next he’s skidding out of the shadows in front of Wels’s cottage. He brushes his fingers against the wooden door, but senses no shadows beyond the walls. Dammit, he’s already asleep? Etho must’ve really given him a workout training together. 

“Wels!” Etho calls, clambering onto his roof. There’s a chimney, and the fire is out at the bottom. Etho shrugs, and jumps in. Etho presses his hands and feet against the cobbled material, slowing his fall into a silent roll. His shout was less silent. “Wels we’re under attack!” 

The paladin leaps from bed, brandishing a knife Etho didn’t realize he even had. Does...does Wels sleep with a knife under his pillow? He shakes his untamed hair from his eyes, locks free from their ponytail as sleep disappears from his. “Who’s attacking? Lemme at em.” 

“Husks, now come on man, we don’t have time to waste.” Etho helps Wels find the bare essentials of his armor, sifting through his friend's dark cottage till his fingers run against metal. What Etho wouldn’t give to light a candle, just to help. And more shadows to run through. Once Wels is ready to fight, the two bust down the door together.

Most of the other hermits are awake, battling across the island. Grian swoops low, weaving through ashen bodies and casting wind spells to send them knocked to the ground. From there, the other hermits are able to deal swift blows, whether with weapon or magic. Wels and Etho glance at each other. “Bet you I can down more enemies than you.” 

“You’re on, paladin.” Etho grins, pulling free his weapon. A deadly short sickle unfolds from the metal chains around it, twirling in the air behind Etho. He dashes into the middle of battle, unleashing his kusarigama upon an unfortunate wizard’s husk. Not like there was anything left- just the dying body. It wasn’t even a zombie- there was no life remaining. 

He whips the chain out, snapping the iron bell at the end against the husk’s arm. It breaks the spell being cast, turning the blighted body’s attention to Etho. But the ninja is gone, invisible in the dark night. Leaping from behind, the chain snatches it’s victim by the legs and pulls them out from under it. Etho rolls away pulling the husk with him. And digging the curved blade into his opponent. Ash breaks around him like shreds of paper, the husk gone. 

Iskall traps a small pack of colocolo, laughing as the demonic rats sink into his puddle of iskallium. Melting away to ash and green goop. He turns his gaze onto his next enemy, looking out across the roiling sea. The husks are attacking like an army, but what are they after? How did they even get here, know they were here? Stress zips by, skating along ice and freezing a line of monsters escaping the sea. Marching into land in a perfect line. Like they’re being commanded. 

His emerald eye glints, training on the darkened water before him. There’s something out there. No- someone. Iskall turns, searching for TFC in the crowd of fighting hermits. “Hey man, there’s someone out there!” 

TFC turns, hand reaching out with his hand behind him and casting a defensive spell. The attacking husk, the remains of an arcane guard falling back. TFC switches the bloodstone in his hand for Iolite. “Hey Impulse, give me a bit of light!” 

“You got it man!” Impulse calls, waving a series of bright explosions around TFC. Not only do the explosions keep husks from attacking the distracted guildmaster, but it blossoms enough illumination to see beyond the dark waves. What he sees just beyond the light doesn’t really help. He catches a glint of something shiny, but what he notices most is the form's reaction to the light. They step away, movement fluid and living. 

A commander, someone controlling the army. TFC growls, eyes narrowing. This must be the dark mage, the person causing all this. Someone has to grab them. “Stress!” 

The ice wizard skids to a stop, spikes of ice digging into husks in a concentric circle around her. TFC nods out to sea, where she follows the two boys’ gaze. It takes her a minute to fix her eyes on the darkness, but it’s easy to notice the shadow figure- they stand out against the ripples and waves of the ocean. And they definitely don’t look like they’re falling apart like a husk. “Alright, let’s see who’s causin’ my friends trouble ‘ere.” 

Stress sprints forward, thick snow boots pounding against burnt grass. Her eyes remain fixed on the person out at sea, standing on the water as if it were tile. The form doesn’t move, and for a second Stress swears she can see a glint of white teeth grinning back at her. They think she’s forgotten about the ocean, the waves crashing onto the shore. She jumps over the first rippling wave, crashing weakly against the shore behind her. 

And when her boots meet water, the sea beneath her freezes. The ice skims across the waves, traveling her with it like a sled across snow. She jumps over a wave, running over the water. Each place her feet touch water, ice freezes outward and supports her weight. The figure seems alarmed, struggling at Stress’s approach. She gets close enough to see a hand move. 

A massive rogue wave rises above Stress. Threatening to swallow her whole, the crest falling towards the ice mage like an avalanche. Stress raises her hands, magic swirling free as she attempts to protect herself. The wave crashes. 

From the shore, TFC watches. Xisuma and Iskall are holding back the husks, allowing the guildmaster to focus on his wizards. Do his job, both as a leader and a father figure. The wave crashes in on itself, revealing the sea behind it. He can’t see the figure. He can’t see Stress. Behind him, TFC hears the hermits calling out, the sound of the fight quieting. But he’s not focused on that. He’s worried about Stress. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t give for xB to be back. To have a kipling to dive into the water and search for Stress. But him and a few others were still gone, on a mission in east Lairyon. TFC frets, pacing back and forth. He knows Stress is strong- she’s the strongest hermit out there. She left her title as a duchess purely for the desire to pursue her magic, to be free and have fun. She can lift even the heaviest of weights, something that she loves to boast over after a few beers. Stress is strong, and tenacious. But he still worries, the same way he worries over every hermit. He’s their leader, and their his guildmembers. They’re his family- he’d be worried if any other one was out there.

He’s going in. He steps a foot down onto the beach, but snaps his head up at the sound of water splashing. Stress is at the surface, sputtering but alive. Her heavy robe weighs her down, and she crawls herself onto a slab of ice, kicking her way to shore. 

Stress washes onto the sand, her lungs aching and fist clenched around something. The wave throttled her, forcing her deep into the water with no idea which way was up. She wasn’t the only one down there- the figure was also knocked over by her magic, thrown into the ocean. They disappeared, but not before Stress grabbed hold of something at their waist. Whatever she holds right now. 

“Did we win?” Stress questions, seeing her friends surrounding her. They’re bloody and bruised, ash and husk cinders smeared on their face. But she’s just glad to see them all.

“As soon as you and that stranger went under, they retreated.” Iskall looks up, grimacing. “Sorry about your barn, Zedaph.” 

Zed shrugs. “It wasn’t your fault, I’m just glad my sheep and other critters are a-okay. Plus, now I can build an even better one!” 

“What’s in your hand, Stressy?” BDubs questions, pointing to her fist. Stress sits up, welcoming a blanket from Ren’s imagination magic and the warmth of Tango’s hellfire. 

Stress looks down, raising the material up. “Its ahhhh…” She peers closer, realizing what it is. She sobers up, her back straightening like she’s at a noble dinner. “It’s a Guild Council belt.” 

The gold tassel strings at the end of the rope sash is enough for them all to know. Only those seated on the Council are given such adornment, a symbol of their dedication and hard work to the kingdom. Iskall bites his lip, pieces falling in together. “I don’t think this was a random attack. Not like Danes or Gildara.” 

“There was actually someone ‘ere, orchestrating the whole thing.” Stress adds, nestling deep into the blanket. Gods, Ren knows how to imagine a soft, warm blanket. “Someone from the Council of Guilds. And someone who obviously don’t want us involved anymore.” 

“This is...a lot bigger than it first appeared to be.” Xisuma breathes, staring at the gold string, flickering in the light.


	15. Chimaera's Championship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone within the Council is a dark wizard. The hermits know it, but need proof. How can they infiltrate Milliara and the capitol without immediately being arrested? 
> 
> The olympics, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give Red all your love cause he's the one who inspired me and created the wizard au! Check them out at theguardiansofredland on tumblr!

“They know what we look like, we can’t walk up and go searching for dark magic. We shouldn’t even be seen together.” Xisuma whispers, leaning over his mug of tea. TFC brushes his lip over his beard, thinking. 

“Do you really think Magistrate Dolios wouldn’t want to know about this? About one of his own Council members breaking their own laws?” Mumbo glances at the others around the table. It’s not everyone, not by a long shot, but they have to go over this.

“I think he’d be more concerned about us breaking his law.” Cleo hisses, running a whetstone down her saber. “But we can’t just sit here and wait to be attacked. Last week’s assault was personal.” 

The whole group murmurs in agreement. “Galena warned us that the government was being complicit, and that there could be secret dungeons beneath the capitol. And now with this,” TFC raises the white and gold sash, “We know that someone in the Council is involved. That must be why Dolios wasn’t able to get legal help. Why he turned to us.”

“And then turned on us.” Joe takes down notes, biting his lip. “There're six guildmasters in the Council. Six guildmasters that could be a dark wizard. How can we even get into Milliara without raising suspicions, much less get close to any of the council members and see if they’re the one who attacked us? And after that, we’d have to convince the entire council- nay, the entire kingdom- that they’re practicing dark magic.” 

“We need more proof.” TFC hisses. 

“Are we really getting into this?” Mumbo isn’t sure if he’s ready. This is...big. Bigger than just himself, bigger than his guild, his home. This is about the entire kingdom.  
And that’s why they have to. “We need a way into Milliara without being noticed.” 

“Not entirely easy when we’re an unlicensed guild that’s already drawn the ire of the arcane guard once.” Xisuma glances down the hill. It’s their day off, and most of the hermits have gone to the mainland for a supplies run. “Not to mention we have some pretty… conspicuous members of our guild.” Namely Doc. The ex-criminal and half automaton really sticks out. Grian as the only sky angel in existence also draws attention. 

“Mumbo!” The entire group snaps upright, and Mumbo splutters his tea all over his sleeves and shirt. It’s a good thing it’s not white. 

Scar and Grian run up the steps, out of breath as they enter the open-air guild hall. Both wizard’s eyes are sparkling with excitement, and Scar is clutching a paper. He slams down the parchment, revealing it to the others. The group leans in, confusion spreading across each face. Cleo speaks up first. “The Chimaera’s Championship? What about it?”

“They’re letting teams join that aren’t established guilds!” Scar squeals. He’s always wanted to take part in the Chimaera’s Championship. He remembers watching it as a kid, amazed by the strength, the finesse, the pageantry of the competition. He always wanted to take part in the creative event, use his terraforming skills to make something beautiful.

“Are you serious?” TFC questions. It’s been a decade since they’ve allowed non-guilds to join. 

“It says right there, next to the Council seal.” Grian points, looking at the others. “We could crush it, we’re the best team out there!”

“We could get into Milliara without raising suspicion.” Doc adds, watching as everyone turns to him with his mismatched eyes. 

“Doc is right.” Xisuma whispers. “We could enter the Championship, and they’d have to let us in as a team. They couldn’t try to disband us, at least not as long as we’re competing.” 

“Of course I’m right. Even better, we can use the championship as a coverup.” Doc smirks. “While the Council is busy running and judging the tournament, and the arcane guard is looking after the crowds and whatnot, we can easily get into the capitol and see who is the dark mage.”

“Doc, you criminal mastermind.” Joe grins, jotting down notes in his book. “This is why we welcomed you here.” 

“This is also why I went to jail, but you know that story.” Doc leans back, grabbing his mug and taking a long sip of his beer. 

“So...does this mean we’re going to sign up?” Scar questions, trying not to be hopeful. But the way his voice rises betrays him. Everyone turns to TFC, waiting for him to make the final decision. 

TFC chuckles. “Let’s show Lairyon what the Order of Hermits can really do. But I think we need to do more training, as well as plot our...” He clears his throat, looking at Doc. “Our heist.” 

Grian and Scar aren’t listening. It’s a dream come true for both, becoming contestants for the championship. “Oh, I can fly in the aerial agility! Mumbo, you can do the tech event they introduced this year!” 

“Tech event?” Mumbo blinks, leaning over to get a good look at the flyer. True enough, an event in honor of Echol, the god of technology, was introduced this year. “I mean...I guess I can attempt. But you know how iffy my magic can be.” 

“Everyone will get to enter into an event, I’m sure everyone will have a place.” TFC reassures. He can already think of Stress in the pageant, as well as the strength event. Joe would excel in the riddles, seeing as he already speaks like one. “But we also need an infiltration team to do the heist. Doc, I’m putting you in charge of selecting the team. You know what will be needed best, who’s magic will be most beneficial.” TFC stands, patting Grian on the back. Hard, almost hard enough to send him tumbling head over heels. “Good find, kid.” 

Grian glows with pride, getting such a compliment not just from his guildmaster, but from his father figure. Scar and him had gone to the mainland, to the town closest to the Ashioll sea. Most of the other hermits were still there, enjoying their day off with what Cleo often calls ‘shoreleave’. Hermits that didn’t leave Eremita were enjoying a warm, sunny day on the beach, or catching up on well deserved sleep. 

Scar noticed the flyers first, plastered all along main street. They had just split off from the ZIT trio, who were busy looking for supplies to rebuild Zedaph’s barn. He promised he’d help them with construction, but he gets easily distracted. Especially when it’s about the Chimaera’s Championship. 

He’s dreamed of one day entering the event. He remembers sitting in the audience, bouncing on his mother’s lap and cheering on the Higharrows, a long gone guild. They were his favorite team, and he would spend evenings after watching the events trying to mimic what he saw in the family’s garden. His parents hated how he was always playing in mud, yelling at him that a wealthy merchant’s son shouldn’t roll around in dirt. But it didn’t matter to him, he didn’t want to be a merchant. He wanted to be a champion. And now he finally gets the chance. 

“Hey Grian, why won’t we go work on our magic? I want to work on my creative skills for the championship.”


	16. Enemies or Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the capitol, Milliara, the hermits discover they aren’t the only ones who have entered the Chimaera’s Championship as a non-guild team. New faces with similar ideas, or new enemies to take on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au and concept is the creation of Red, please check em out and givem some love at @theguardiansofredland on tumblr! 
> 
> And real quick, two notes- 
> 
> 1) New side characters! They aren't recurring mains like hermitcraft is, but they'll appear in and out. Hopefully yinz don't mind Red and I being nostalgic with TC as well as putting our own ocs in, just to fill the world (and because we wanted to). Red belongs to Red, Avon belongs to me, and Ecto belongs to a friend on tumblr
> 
> 2) My other fic on tumblr is about to come to a close, which means LoL will become my main focus! I will probably be changing the update schedule so more LoL more often!

“Did you really register us as team STAR?” Grian mumbles, glaring over at Doc. They never should trust a puppet mage. “We’re the hermits, not some silly dodgeball team.” 

“They know we’re a guild as the hermits. A guild that isn’t legal. At least now they won’t be suspecting us.” Doc takes the scroll, passing it off to TFC. Milliara was busy, busier than he’s ever seen it. The championship brought people from all over Lairyon, here to see the best mages compete for glory, gold, and good times. “Come on, now that we’re checked in we can go to the accommodations.” 

“I was wondering why our packs were so light.” Mumbo hums. “I don’t have to carry my own bed and home.” 

“Thank the gods.” Tango breathes. He likes camping out with the other hermits, but having to carry the tents and bedrolls long distances is a pain. He hurries to catch up with Impulse and BDubs, chittering about what events they plan on doing. It feels weird, walking down the streets of Milliara after last time they were here. Welcomed back as a team, after Magistrate Dolios threw them out and told them to disband as a guild. Tango winces, remembering the cape in Dolios’s dark office. He’s not losing another guild, not like Impulse, Zedaph, and he has before. 

They round the corner, walking over a raised bridge that rises above a swamp canal, spotting the inn they were given. It’s made of old, weathered wood, almost no windows on the bottom floor. One window on the top floor is broken. The building looks to be leaning, only propped up by the chimney at this point. TFC shrugs. Better a roof over his head than sleeping in a tent. He marches towards the door, invoking the others to join him.

“Here we ar-” TFC is cut off as soon as he opens the door, heat blasting his face and hot magma illuminating the tavern of the inn. Water splashes the group, followed by a shout. 

“Mitch! You’re gonna burn the whole town down!” A kipling yells, sending a wave over the lava and forcing it to cool. 

“Jerome said the wood was magic tempered.” Mitch shrugs, looking over at the large creature at the bar. Someone the hermits can only assume is Jerome, who shrugs and returns to his drink. “So long as it didn’t burn you, what’s the harm?” 

“You did almost burn these people.” The kipling waves behind him, pointing at the hermits. The group can only stand in shock and a bit of fright. It...wasn’t exactly the nicest inn in Milliara. Far from that, in fact. The tavern was small, dark, with the only light coming from a dying fireplace. Barstools were rickety, the one holding up the fuzzy beast hardly taking his massive size. Chairs were held together with glue, mismatched around each different table. A bartender cleans varying mugs, no set complete. Only six other people are in the tavern, including Mitch, Jerome, and the kipling. 

“Uhhh, hello?” Wels’s response is more of a question than a statement. “Are...are you competitors for the Chimaera’s Championship as well?”

“We were ssssstarting to think we were the only team that wasssss boarded up in the lossssserssss cabin.” Joe leaps back, alarmed as a talking snake slithers past him. The snake climbs up the cooled lava, curling up next to the fireplace. To the hermits’ surprise, the snake becomes a man, stretched out in front of the warmth. 

“Is that what this place is?” Doc grumbles, looking around. He’s stolen from beggers richer than this. 

Next to Jerome, one of the mages stands. A brown mop of hair frames a boisterous face, childish eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. “Don’t listen to my friends. They’re just a little hyper. I’m Sky, these idiots behind me are Quentin,” 

“Hey!” Quentin retorts to the idiot label, but Sky isn’t listening. 

“The hothead is Mitch, and his friend Jerome.” Sky points out the ginger haired flame mage, who’s doing his best to clean up the cooled magma. Lucky for him, he’s got the help of Jerome, who’s own earth magic handles the rock easily. “Ty is the snake.”

“I’m a basilisk, dude.” Ty sits up, eyes sharpening into a challenge for the gloved leader. 

“Still a snake, in a way. Whatever, there’s also Jason-” He points out the last person, reclined in a chair with his feet on the table. He winks and salutes hello, not getting up from his perch. “And...uh, where’s Ssundee?” 

“Last I saw him he was out in our room, tinkering with stuff.” Quentin nods to the stairs. 

Cleo furrows her eyebrows. “The window was broken open in one of the rooms above.” 

“Ah, so he’s out shopping.” Quentin sighs, stepping over Mitch and Jerome as they clean up and flopping down in a chair.

The hermits squeeze in, retrieving keys from the innkeeper. Groups pair up to find bedspace, their meager supplies tossed into their rooms before returning to the tavern floor. A few remain upstairs, taking the time to rest. 

Once he’s downstairs and settled, BDubs frowns, looking at his drink as he’s hit with the aftertaste. He knows a thing or two about ale, and this tastes like swill. “They really put us up in, like, the worst place possible.” 

“I think they did that to every team. You know, we aren’t quite as important to be a guild, to get the good accommodations.” Quentin mutters, pouring out his drink and watching it foam on the floor. Disgusting. “But you guys...you’re big. How’re you not a guild already?” 

“Let’s just say the magistrate doesn’t really like us.” Grian sighs, flopping across his chair in an awkward position. Surely not the way a chair was designed to be sat in.< “Screw that guy.” Everyone looks up, quite surprised to hear Ty hiss out his words. To say such a negative thing about Magistrate Dolios, in the open. What if an arcane guard walked by? “He thinks he’s so high and mighty, so perfect. It’s annoying.” 

“Things...have changed since that man came to power.” Jerome adds. 

“That’s right, your kind lives much longer than most species.” Xisuma leans forward. 

“Mhhmm,” he scratches at the crown of his head, fur petting across fur. “Guilds aren’t what they used to be. Guilds used to be just groups of friends, or maybe organizations with likeminded interests. Anything could be a guild, anyone could be a guildmember. Now...now it’s a status symbol for the wealthy and powerful.” 

Xisuma glances around, seeing other hermits nodding. He itches to tell their fellow competitors their plan, but Doc’s red robotic eye keeps him silent. He knows that what they’re about to do is treason. No one else needs to know about it. They could rat them out, and then Dolios will have every reason to arrest them. 

“I’m just glad we get to compete in the games!” Scar cheers, earning a chorus of agreement and a few toasts. “What do you think changed the Council’s mind to let teams compete?” 

“I...I’ve been wondering that as well.” Doc growls. Why all of a sudden now? The games have been closed to guilds only for years, and now the Council is letting anyone join in? It seems unusual. But it doesn’t matter- this is the perfect coverup. He looks around, pushing the thoughts out of his head. He needs to focus on planning the heist. It needs to go off without a hitch. They have no room for error. “I thought I saw another nonguild team joined? Have they been boarded up here as well?” 

Sky shrugs, tapping his gloved fingers against the pewter cup. “We haven’t seen anyone but you guys.” 

“Do you think they flaked out?” Etho appears suddenly, reclining in a chair as he appears from the shadows around it. The other group, who have called themselves Team Crafted, all leap in surprise by his arrival. The hermits have grown used to his shenanigans by now. “Or maybe the guilds intimidated them into quitting.” 

The talking continues, but Doc has retreated into his own conversation. As welcoming as it is to meet another group of mages who seem just as frustrated as them about the Council and their restrictions. But can they be trusted? He’s learned a thing or two about trust, his time spent as a criminal and a rebel. They may all be laughing and sharing this horrible beer now, but come tomorrow, come the tournament, and they will do anything to win. He doesn’t know if they’re to be trusted as allies, so he’ll see them as enemies. 

The door crashes open, jolting Doc out of his mind. Across the way, Jerome sighs, putting his head in his hands. “Ssundee, what have we told you about kicking doors?”

“I found new friends!” The person in the doorway skips in, black curls bouncing alongside a five-oclock shadow. Brown overalls are stained with oil, as are blue gloves. “Though it seems like you guys found even more.” 

“And that’s Ssundee.” Sky states, finally able to reconcile with his whole team. “Ssundee, this is the Team STAR. They’re competing in the championship as well.” 

“Oh, so you’re the last nonguild team that signed up!” Ssundee surges forward, eyes glimmering with excitement, curious to see everyone. 

“Last? What about the third group?” Iskall tilts his head. 

“Those are my new friends!” Ssundee waves to the open door, where three figures stand in the precipice between sunlight and the dark tavern. Iskall raises his eyebrows, watching as the shortest one joins Ssundee’s side. They already look like best friends, even though they’ve hardly known each other. The other two enter in, the tallest closing the door behind her quite abruptly. 

“Three people? That’s not a very big team.” Grian questions, sitting up to get a good look at the trio. It’s an odd mix, three very different people and three very different attitudes. 

“We’re the wanderers! I’m Red,” The short kipling motions to himself, smiling. “And my friends are Ecto and Avon.” Red motions to each one. Ecto offers a short wave, a coy smile appearing on her face from under a brown hood. The last one doesn’t respond, sticking to the corner. Grian’s eyes widen as he notices that the last has massive black wings. What kind of magic is that? 

“So this is everyone who dares go against the guilds?” TFC looks at the eclectic bunch. He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as the wanderers scrabble up the stairs and over one another. And he thought the hermits were a strange team. “They won’t know what’s coming for them.”


	17. Among the Elite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opening ceremony of the Chimaera’s Championship has arrived, the hermits standing before all of Lairyon to prove their strength, skill, intellect, and magic. To everyone- including the Magistrate. And the king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is brought to you by the color (and cool person) Red! Check her out on tumblr at @theguardiansofredland for art and other wicked stuff

Mumbo can hear the crowd cheering in the coliseum. So many voices, and even more eyes and faces. Can he really do this? Go out there, and be a competitor in the kingdom’s biggest games? His breath starts to pick up, and he turns around. 

“It’s okay, Mumbo. We’re here for you.” Grian is right behind him, calming his friend with a soothing voice. “You have all of us here to help you. You’ve got all your friends.” Mumbo looks around. He can see all the hermits, surrounding him. Beyond their circle, he can see the other nonguild teams. The wanderers, only three strong, chattering. Team Crafted, wrestling with one another. It looks like Ty is winning. And beyond them, he can see the guilds. Hundreds strong, all with matching uniforms and banners signifying their allegiance. He can see Council guilds, noble guilds, guilds his parents were in. Guilds he was denied entry. And yet here he was, among them, among the elite. 

“Never really thought I’d be here. So many people, what if I mess up?” He bites his lip. 

“It’s just the opening ceremony, how can you mess that up?” Iskall laughs beside him. Mumbo can think of a few ways, mostly an embarrassment to himself. His head picks up, hearing the loud blare of music being played. “Good gods, how big of a band is that?” 

“Or maybe it’s just a few but they have amplifying magic.” Cleo points out, sheathing her sword and making sure the hilt is visible for everyone. Etho does the opposite- he makes sure his is hidden from view beneath the blue fabric of his kit. 

“Or!” Keralis hops up, excited as a grasshopper. “It’s one person, who has music magic and is conducting a massive band of instruments.” Despite his words, that isn’t out of the picture. Magic is just as unique as the people of Lairyon, and only limited by a wizard’s imagination. Keralis was proof enough- his magic was unique, his creativity with his power beyond the scope of any normal wizard. 

“Guess we’ll find out in… 30 teams from now.” Xisuma sighs. “All of the guilds go first.”

“Will there be anyone awake by then to even cheer for us?” Doc rolls his eyes, watching the guild teams start to march out into the stadium. The crowd erupts into applause and screams, some rising higher when people see their favorite team. 

“Aww come on, people like underdog stories.” Joe points out, grinning as he pushes up his glasses. 

“Yeah, yeah! Let’s not just use this as a…” Grian pauses, lowering his voice. “... as a coverup for the heist. Let’s win this thing. Let’s make Magistrate Dolios sit up and realize he messed up when he denied us our license. Let’s win this.” 

False grins, a ferver for competition igniting in her eyes. She punches Cleo’s shoulder, the sound of bones rattling under her cold, dead skin, and the taste for victory spreads like a fire. Soon, Grian’s challenge has reached his friends. BDubs pumps his fist. “Go hermits!” 

“Hermits!” The order calls out, including Doc. Until he remembers that’s not their team name. He quickly clears his throat, removing the excited, joyful expression on his face and returning to his calm, dark demeanor. “We’re team STAR, remember?” 

Grian rolls his eyes. “I swear, you could’ve chosen a better name.” 

“Like what?” Doc dares him to come up with something better. He leans back against the bench, metal cranium rasping against the stone wall behind him. 

“Uhh... “ Grian struggles to think of something, but the pressure is mounting. Doc is snickering at him, and he wants nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face. “The G-team!” 

Doc’s laughter fills the entire room, other teams looking at him. “What the hell is the G even for? Grian?” 

If Grian had his wings, the feathers would be puffing out. Lucky for him, his feathery blonde hair was already doing it in response to the anger. “No! It means great, and how we’ll gain the victory! Get the Chimaera’s cup!” 

Doc concedes, putting up his hands but laughing at Grian’s excitement. The hermits watch as the room empties, guild after guild being announced and presented. The crowd never ceases cheering, the music continues to play, and the booming voice of Magistrate Dolios is only hindered by the stone walls surrounding the hermits. Until after what feels like hours- maybe it was hours- the crowd dies down. The music lulls, but never stops. “Dear people of Lairyon. This championship, the 893rd Chimaera’s Championship, brings a new chance for the regular folk to prove their strength among the elite! We have opened our gates to teams regardless of their faction or affiliation, or lack thereof.”

“Like it was closed when he came to power.” The remaining teams all look over, seeing a dark shadow passing over Jerome’s ambered eyes. Almost animalistic. Feral. 

“This new day for the championship brings three teams of independent wizards, vying for the same glory and gold that the cup offers! Allow it to be my exquisite honor and absolute pleasure to introduce these teams myself. First, we have Team Crafted.” The seven man team gets up, smacking each other on the back and hooting their way onto the field. The cheering is quieter, and the music picks up at a dissonant pace. 

“We have Team STAR!” The hermits scrabble to their feet, pushing towards the entry to be the first out. The entire guild slams to a halt, BDubs using his magic to create a barrier of vine arms. 

“TFC, you go first. You’re our leader.” He whispers. The group breaks open, allowing their guildmaster to the front. As he walks towards the light beyond, his shoulders press back and his head rises. 

“I’m honored to lead such a talented and brave group of people.” He grins, then steps into the light. The hermits follow, blinking away stars and looking around. The crowd is quiet, only a few people with the energy left to cheer for them. The music still drifts around the team, the hermits bringing their own excitement. The entire stadium is full, crowds packed in and watching the hermits take their lap around the coliseum. They can only see the stone work in one area- the crown booth. At the lowest level, the Council of Guilds sit, staring at the hermits with disinterest. Just above them, two men are seated. 

The King of Lairyon. King Sor is at the edge of his seat, craning his neck to see the group. He turns his head, looking back at the man next to him. They share near identical faces, though the black suited wizard behind him has much darker tones of rainbow hair, at least compared to King Sor’s pastel locks. The crown king turns, eyes glittering to watch the hermits. His hair turns bright yellow, his eyes mimicking the same color. The crowded stadium becomes loud with cheering, the music swelling and returning to a new vigor. King Sor and his advisor both clap, welcoming the hermits with a smile. 

Above the crown, sitting in his own chair raised up, was Magistrate Dolios. For a heartbeat, a thread of anger crosses his amber and blue eyes, but is lost among the warm smile and welcome tone to his voice. He didn’t know team STAR was the hermits. What would he have done if he did? He reclines back in his chair, his body relaxed and charisma exuding from every pore. He brushes his red and purple robe, watching the hermits as they march past, joining the elite guilds in the center of the field. “And finally, we have team wanderers.” 

The crowd grows confused, the celebrations stumbling. Only three people leave the hall, puny next to guilds hundreds strong. Red leads the team, carrying a banner twice his height. Behind him, Ecto is basking in warm light, though both her and Avon seem a bit offput by the size of the crowd around them. They take their place besides the hermits, turning to face the crown podium. To listen to Magistrate Dolios formally announce the start of the games. 

“I commend each and every one of you who step foot on this field. The coming days will be full of events that test your strength, your speed, your agility, and most importantly your connection to your own magic.” Dolios waves his hand, and Grian notices his head begin to feel fuzzy, swaying where he stands. He takes a deep breath, chest tight. Is he nervous? This is big, but he refuses to let himself get distracted by the crowds, all the people watching him. He’s here to win, and no one will stop him. He doesn’t let his nerves distract him, though the feeling still persists. “But ultimately, only one team will come out on top, and take the Chimaera’s Cup. To each team I wish you luck.” His eyes run across the guilds, before flicking to the teams. “You will need it. May the waters of Lairyon flow in your favor. And I, Magistrate Dolios, leader of Lairyon, formally announce the beginning of the Chimaera’s Championship!” 

He opens his arms wide, and fireworks burst from seemingly nowhere, erupting the sky with colors and lights only magic to create. Moving pictures and sparkles in the sky, a rainbow of colors as beasts of sparks and smoke dance among the stars. The crowd and contestants applause and rally at the sight, their magistrate showing off his own powers. A multi-mage and leader of the kingdom, he can inspire with his words and his many types of magic. 

Even the hermits can’t help but admire his work, his show. As soon as the opening ceremony ends and the teams are ushered to the street, they are left alone- reminded that despite all his fanfare, Dolios is still the man who refused to give them their license. Who may even know which of his council members is a dark mage, or is just being a complacent leader.

And that’s what festers among the group as they walk back to the inn. Back to the losers cabin, as Ty called it. They can only think of the heartbreaking moment Dolios told them to leave, burning their contract in his hand and warning them to disband. They can only think of Danes and Gildara, the dark magic plaguing their land. Does he even know the true extent of the danger? 

“Hey, you guys want to join us for a round of drinks?” Red cheers as the hermits enter the tavern. Team Crafted sits with them, Sky’s hand removed from it’s glove. His mug is gold. But the hermits don’t join them. They all walk past, though so many want to enjoy the excitement of the championship. To celebrate this moment in their life. Up, squeezing into TFC’s room. Hermits sit on the bed, on tables and chairs, on drawers and nightstands. Most sit on the floor. Tango and Grian find space for themselves by perching on the dilapidated wood chandelier. 

“Alright guys. You know why we’re really here. The Council will be too busy orchestrating the championship, and the guard too busy patrolling the events to notice anything out of the ordinary in the capitol. Doc has chosen his team, the rest of us just have to cover up for them when they go missing. Tomorrow starts with the pageant, quickdraw, and the races. Grian, you’re going to be staring us off tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I’m ready.” Grian chuckles, swinging on the chandelier with Tango, both boys swinging their legs despite the creaking and groaning coming from the wood and walls. “I’ll shock and speed past all our opponents.” 

TFC nods, grinning. “Day two will be the agility and other tests of body and mind. Iskall, have you been practicing?” 

“I’ve got that in the bag, dude. We have that whole day on lock, between us.” He points to the others that day. Stress for strength. Etho for land agility. Joe for riddles. 

“Good. Day three is going to be tough, it’s got both the creative challenge and the technology challenge. Scar, Mumbo?” TFC searches for both, discovering one on a drawer and another squished on the floor. 

“You can count on us, TFC. Right, Mumbo?” Scar chuckles, eyes glimmering with excitement. Finally, he’s performing in the very contest that inspired him to pursue his magic.

“Uhhh, sure.” Mumbo isn’t so confident. Not only does he have to control his magic, he has to control it in a timed event to create machinery. In front of thousands. In honor of Echol, the god of technology. He feels the pressure mount on his shoulders just thinking about it. How is he going to do this? Half the time he can’t even summon redstone, much less move it to his whim. 

TFC reaches out, patting Mumbo on the back. “I believe in you, kid. Day four, I want everyone to listen carefully. We all know the duel is the most popular event of the games. Everyone and their brother will be watching. The council will be judging, and the arcane guard will have their hands full with the crowded coliseum. That’s when Doc, Etho, Ren, Zed, and Cub will infiltrate the capitol. We need to do our best to make sure no one is suspicious. If anyone asks where they are, we say they’re out sick.” 

“A little too much to drink of nasty swill.” Doc chuckles, glancing at his team. He’ll remind them of the plan later. They don’t need to know the details yet, it only gives time for others to hear, to find out. 

“If everything goes right, we’ll know who is the dark mage by the time they announce the two winning teams. Who knows if we’ll move on into the labyrinth competition the last day.” TFC reaches out, pulling the sash from the bottom of his bag. The mark of a council guildmaster, found when husks attacked their island. Attacked them personally. “One way or another, we’ll be leaving Milliara with more than we came with. I assure you all, I won’t let anything happen to us.”


	18. Take to the Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the Chimaera’s Championship, are the hermits ready to take on the strongest, most powerful guilds in the kingdom and earn the gold? Or will they fall from grace and reveal their true intentions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This incredible au and all the character designs, much of the story ideas, and the magic system are all props to Red, the most incredible being I've ever had the honor to meet! Check him out at @theguardiansofredland on tumblr!
> 
> Ecto belongs to a friend on tumblr!

“Sorry Grian, who knew he had gold magic?” Iskall tries to quell Grian’s disappointment. He tried his best, he really did. It was a split decision, even Magistrate Dolios voting for Grian. But the majority was with Sky, his dazzling pageantry of gold that shimmered in the morning sunlight. Grian was second place, a silver medal hanging from his neck, rising and falling with his weakened breath. But he was vying for first. 

“Hey, think about it this way.” Scar croons, reaching across and patting Grian’s back. They sit in the stands, not paying attention to the quickdraw competition before them. They only look up every so often, at the sound of the crowd gasping. The split second when one wizard makes their move, and whoever’s faster in summoning their magic claims victory and moving on. “For the first time in a decade, a wizard not in a guild won the pageant. That’s huge!” 

“Not just that, but first and second. You made history, Gri.” Iskall adds. Grian nods weakly. 

“You’re right. It’s disappointing, but… hey, silver isn’t so bad! And I’m going to get the gold with the agility contest tomorrow! Those guilds won’t know what hit them when they see me!” 

The trio looks down into the field, easily picking out Tango as he walks onto the pitch. He made it to the finals, facing off against a wizard from a council guild. The man stands on the far end of the field, daring for Tango to take him on. His entire posture begs for someone to try and defeat him. But if there was any wizard faster than Tango, they’ve yet to meet one. 

“I’ve heard of that guy. Sendell the Swift.” Iskall whispers, watching Tango’s fire hair flicker and grow as he takes root on the other side of the field. He’s getting excited, ready for a real challenge. 

“He knocked Mitch out with less than a millisecond between when he noticed Mitch draw and when he fired.” The crowd silences around Scar, the entire coliseum little more than a hushed rumble. The tension grows with every second that the two stare down one another. A cool smile, contrasted from his fired hair, betrays none of Tango’s intentions.

The entire stadium holds their breath. Flash. Red light illuminates from Tango’s hand, the motions to conjure his spell so quick his arms blur. At the same time Tango’s fireball shoots free, Sendell’s magical chains whip out to grab Tango. He rolls away, the cool metal moving like snakes past him. But Sendell is struck dead on. The hermits can only blink, realizing, in one second the event is over. 

Tango won. The initial shock fades from the hermits, and they erupt in applause. They just won an event in the Chimaera’s championship! Them, an outlaw guild of nobodies, of misfits. Just won in the biggest event in all of Lairyon. One event of many, but for them to win at all- it was astounding. Tango’s face says it all, as the gold medal is placed around his neck. Impulse and Zedaph are the first to welcome him back in the seats, dog-piling on top of the hellfire mage and squeezing the life out of him with hugs. Even Scar, who’s event is next, can’t help but get in on the celebration. Happiness just makes him happy. 

“Awesome job, Tango! You really took my speech to heart.” Grian looks over, ignoring as the field before them transforms. Wizards use their magic to turn quickdraw circles into a river, swamp water flowing through the coliseum. 

“Aww, shucks. You guys know me, competition is my middle name.” He leans back, boasting his medal. “That guy didn’t even know what hit him. Though...wow, that really tired me out.” 

“I thought your middle name was Gerald.” Zedaph frowns, but quickly forgets about it in lieu of listening to Impulse. 

“I think you need your own nickname like him. Like...Tango the tenacious.” Impulse laughs, trying to ease his own nerves. His event is next. He’s gotta get in the zone soon. The hermits look down, almost every member in the stands. Some are intentionally not here, per Doc’s request. He said it would make their disappearance the day of the duels seem less suspicious. 

“Shame xB isn’t back from his mission. He’d crush this swim race.” Keralis leans forward, looking at all Scar’s opponents. They’re all kiplings, a race that literally lives in water. “But if there’s anyone who could win this race, it’s Scar.” 

“He beat xB a few times back on Eremita.” Cleo states. “This isn’t just about who’s the best swimmer. It’s who’s able to use the water to their advantage, and their magic. And if Scar can do anything, it’s use his magic to his advantage.”

And use it he did. As soon as the race had started, he was ahead. Facing off against two guildmembers, and their fellow nonguild Quentin. With a burst of magic between the two of them, it became neck and neck. But it was Scar’s ingenuity that gave him the win. Cutting a channel into the ground beneath him, the water sped him into winning. 

Another point, another win for the hermits. It was unbelievable. They came here solely for discovering who the dark mage was- but now they’ve won two of the three events so far. They were crushing it. Scar, sopping wet, runs up to the hermits. His legs feel like jelly, his body hardly able to hold him up. He’s not felt this way in years, but he’s too excited to be bothered. “That was ah-mazin’.” 

“You rocked it, Scar! How’d you think to use your magic like that?” Grian cheers, but Scar only shrugs. He’s not sure where he gets his ideas, but they work. And he won. Grian notices a few glares in their direction, mostly from the other guilds in the competition. None of them have won yet. They aren’t happy to be losing to a bunch of misfits, nobodies. 

“Hey, scoot over. I wanna watch Impulse crush it in the footrace.” He pushes Grian to the side, running his hand through his hair and shaking out the water. He sidles close to Tango, who sighs and summons his fire magic. Helping dry off the wet hermit. 

Impulse is stretching his legs, rewrapping the bandages around his hands. Not because he’s wounded- they help protect him from his own blasts. Beside him, one of the wanderers stoops low, scooping up a handful of the sand used for the racetrack. A sly smile appears on her face. “This is going to be fun.” 

“Good luck, Ecto.” Impulse hums, a cool expression on his face. He’s a little nervous, but he doesn’t let it show. He has a plan, and he’s going to use it to win the gold medal. “I’m going to have an explosive start.” 

The racers lean down, the event about to start. A cool, slick smile creases under Ecto’s keen eyes. Her fingers dig into the sand, magic circle appearing beneath the grains. The race starts, and Impulse leads the pack. With each strike of his foot against the ground, a small explosion beneath his feet propels him farther faster. He’s in the lead. He’s going to win. 

Until Ecto activates her magic. The sand moves beneath her feet, pushing her ahead of Impulse. She might as well be running on air, the sand rising up and hardening beneath her feet for her to push against. She doesn’t remove her eyes from the prize- the finish line. Ecto was in the lead, but she doesn’t act like it. She just keeps pushing, faster and faster. 

In the last lap of the race, she changes her tactic. The ground stops rising up to meet her feet. Her shoes still, but she continues to fly across the sand. She’s surfing, riding the wave of sand along the track. Sand rolls across like water, and everyone is left in the dust as the wanderer careens across the finish line. 

From the sidelines, the other two wanderers are cheering. Ecto straightens her back, ignoring the applause and cheers. Instead, she turns to Impulse as he finishes second. “That was definitely an explosive start. But I just rode the wave to victory.” 

Impulse laughs, his breath panting across his lips. He shouldn’t be this tired, not from the amount of magic he used. He feels like he just blew up half an island, not just a race. “That was...really cool to watch. I’m glad the medal goes to you.” 

“Better us than those pompous guild assholes.” Ecto throws her scarf over her shoulder, breath at equal pace. Impulse grins, watching her retrieve her gold medal. He takes a mental note to himself, turning back to his friends. As strange as those wanderers are, they have tenacity. They’ll give the hermits a run for their money, that’s for sure.


	19. Mind and Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
> 
> After the success of their first day among the elite, a new dawn rises and the hermits continue to prove their worth as a guild and as wizards. From the distance, however, people are watching the hermits much more closely than just if they win or lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder for all you lovely people that this work is by Red and I both, Red's the genius that came up with this Au, so much of the plot, all of the magic system and hermit designs! They're the real hero here so please give them some love on their tumblr @theguardiansofredland !

Somehow, the hermits were in the lead. By the end of the first day, they were leading the boards. Even though they lost the pageant and footrace, their domination of the quick draw, the sea race, and Tango’s evening flight race has them ahead. Behind them, the other two nonguild teams were tied for second. The points from there on were a mess between the guilds. 

It was an underdog story for the ages. Three ragtag teams leading the Chimaera’s Championship. Guilds will train for years to win even a bronze medal in the games. They select their teams from only the best, never ceasing to push their limits. And yet, nothing can compare to the determination and skill these outcasts held. Even the hermits had to admit, Team Crafted and the wanderers were strong. But more than that, they were both a team. Just like the hermits. 

“I’ve got this, guys.” Iskall laughs, twirling a rod of iskallium in his hand. “These mega guilds won’t know what hit them when they see my sharpshooting skills.” 

“I mean, we are winning right now, but...I really wanna win them all.” Mumbo’s had a taste for competition, and now he wants more. “But I’m not so worried about the guilds as I am the other teams that are tied.” 

Iskall looks over his shoulder, seeing Avon observing the distance between where she stands to the target down the field. “I think she’s all bark and no bite. I’m gonna show everyone the power of iskallium after today.” 

“What kind of mage even is that?” Mumbo questions, noticing the massive black wings on his opponents back. “Is that like Ren’s misfired werewolf mimic?” 

“Nah dude, don’t you know anything?” Iskall spikes his iskallium rod into the ground. “That’s a draconic mage.” 

“Are they rare? Like...rare as Grian’s sky angel magic or my multi-magic?” Mumbo has never heard of a draconic mage, though he never really learned things like this from his parents. His mood immediately sours at the thought of them. He hopes they’re not here, watching. Or does he? 

“Eh, in a way. Not quite like you guys. It’s more of a… finding the right teacher kind of problem.” Iskall sees Mumbo’s confusion only grow. “They have to learn from dragons, dude. Not exactly the most trusting beasts, those big lizards of doom. But don’t worry about that- it’s not like you’ll have to face anything like that.” 

“Good luck, Iskall.” Mumbo whispers, retreating as the event starts. He was the only hermit willing to wake up this early for the event. Most are still somewhat drunk from celebrating their victories yesterday. No one imagined they’d do this well. Though, a few were dizzy, and Tango even struggled to get out of bed. 

One by one, down the line, wizards use their magic to strike the target. Everything from flecks of dirt to pillows shot at the haybales. One art mage even draws up their own arrows and sends them flying. Some strike near the bullseye, others don’t even reach the target. It was a close match for the former. The drawn arrow was almost perfectly center, just millimeters from landing a perfect score. 

Iskall knows he has to be better. He gets three shots. Three tries. His emerald eye flicks across the field, measuring the distance between himself and the target. Three shots and he’ll win. He feels the wind in his hair, blustering for a second and ruining a shot of the person next to him. Three shots and he’ll prove he’s a mega sharpshooter. 

It’s his turn. He draws out his rod of iskallium, his own element of creation. It’s radioactive, but he’s immune to it. He can feel the power, the energy within the rod. Energy he plans to use to make a clear, perfect shot. He reels his arm back, and throws the first rod. As soon as it’s airborne, he releases a burst of radioactive energy from the projectile, sending it burying into the target. A near perfect hit. 

His next shot is almost identical, though the wind as his rod nears the target pushes it slightly off center. His shoulders sag, a weight pressing down on him, pressing in on his lungs. As long as he doesn’t miss the center ring, he’s got the event in the bag. 

He doesn’t miss. Iskall offers a coy smile beneath his beard, though inside he’s freaking out. He’s currently winning a championship event. He stays calm, but in his mind he’s already celebrating. Doing his own little dance in the sand at his feet. 

Until a barb whizzes down the field, burying into the center ring. He opens his eye, staring at Avon beside him. Her eyes are trained on the target, like a predator stalking it’s prey. Her wings are slightly ajar, counterbalancing her weight from throwing the poison barb forward. She straightens, another projectile appearing in her fingers. He can see purple toxin dribbling from the tip of the barb. The gaze never falters, determination locking her in. She twists around, launching the barb like an arrow in the wind. It digs into the hay-filled target, the larger base of the barb brushing against her first target. 

“No...way.” Iskall whispers. The wind picks up. Surely that will mess her up, right? He was Iskall, deadeye of doom. Nothing can stop him. The last barb flies in slow motion, her throw slightly curved against the wind. Letting the breeze push it to center. 

The tip of the barb splits through the first shot. A perfect bullseye, not once but twice. Iskall has no ability to be bummed that he only got silver- that was mega awesome. Avon seems calm, collected even as she receives her medal, albeit tired. Exhausted physically, but never betraying what she’s thinking or feeling. 

Mumbo and Iskall are still talking about the sight when Grian and a few other hermits join them in the stands. “So, how’d it go?” Grian sings, trying to be as bouncy as usual despite sleep still holding his eyes. He notices the silver medal hanging off Iskall’s neck. “What?! How’d you only get second? You’re like...the best shot i’ve ever seen, Iskall.” 

“Those three wanderers, bro. I’ve never seen a least conspicuous group ever...but wow.” If it wasn’t for their lack of members, they’d give the hermits a run for their money. At least they have that going for them. “So G-man, you ready to prove your true talent?” 

“Flying? You bet.” Grian flicks his arms out, and his angelic blue and white wings unfurl from nowhere, appearing like clouds in the sky. “That pageant was just a warmup.” 

He hops onto the railing of the seats, before taking off into the air. Flying among other winged wizards, the hermits can already see his mastery of the sky. On the ground, Etho is warming his muscles as obstacles rise above the stadium. Pillars and rings teeter into the sky, caves and ravines digging in the ground, the dual events taking place at the same time. Neither Etho or Grian were the only nonguild wizards- Ecto is back, snacking on a cactus as she watches the course construct before her. In the air, the basilisk mage, Ty, is testing his wings against his short, lanky body. 

“I don’t know who to watch!” Mumbo whispers, glancing from one course to the next. A firework crackles in the air, and in both the sky and the sand wizards take off. Across the obstacle course. 

“You watch Grian, I’ll watch Etho.” Iskall chuckles, observing as the shadow ninja disappears through a shadow, reappearing in the lead. He bounces off a wall, dropping onto a raised bar and flipping across a pit of acid. Who even made that pit? Seems dangerous. But danger means nothing for Etho, and his incredible agility across the course. 

Mumbo is biting his lip, watching as Grian brushes against a pillar of stone in the sky. Grian’s flying is risky, even in the best of times. The amount of heart attacks Grian gives his best friend on a normal day is spectacular. Today is even worse. He loses a year of his life watching the sky angel plummet from the sky, wings snapping open just in time to fly through a ring, pulling into the lead. Mumbo swears he can see a blue feather sheared off Grian’s wing as his friend squeezes between two rocks. 

“Oh no, not again!” Iskall’s groan turns Mumbo’s attention to the ground. Ecto and Etho are both at the finish line, huffing and puffing as they clasp hands and congratulate one another. Mischievous eyes glimmer and grin, sharing quips and laughing. The two look at the other contestants, but based on Iskall’s outburst Mumbo knows who won. Again. 

“Grian’s winning though!” The two look up, a shadow passing over their seats in the crowd. He’s got a heavy lead, while Ty and a gryphon wizard battle for second. Ty takes the lead, his scaly wings fluttering in the wind and ducking low to go under a blockade. The guild mage flies over, swinging his arm. Magic shoots out, aimed directly at Grian. 

“Is that allowed?” Mumbo gasps, standing up. Grian’s almost at the finish line. He can’t let himself get hit by whatever spell the mage just cast. 

“Go Grian!” Iskall shouts. “Watch out!” 

Grian looks back, eyes widening as the golden magic hurdles his way. He’s so close...he’s not going to lose this. Grian curls his wings, tightening them against his body. He plummets from the sky. Wind whistles across his ears, feathers fluttering and the ground quickly rising up to meet him. But so is the finish line. A blast at his back pushes him into terminal velocity, the guild wizard’s magic blossoming into an explosive barrier. He needs to open his wings, to slow down. But he’ll become a target. So what does he do?

He closes his eyes. And crashes into the ground. Bouncing off the grass and hurtling over the finish line, Grian wins first place. Blood and bruises quickly appear on his skin and face, but he’s conscious and sitting upright as the coliseum erupts into cheers. Iskall and Mumbo only sigh. For the healer of the guild, he gets himself hurt more often than anyone. 

Once on the sidelines, Etho helps Mumbo wrap bandages around Grian’s wounds. Mumbo shakes his head, prodding a bruise. “That was totally an illegal move, that explosion.” 

“The guilds are pissed that we’re winning.” Etho hums. He tries to manipulate a shadow to cover him against the sun, but frowns when his magic refuses to appear. “You should’ve heard the wizards in the agility course. They think we’re cheating. They don’t get how a bunch of misfits are winning in almost every event.” 

“It’s just cause we’re that much mega better.” Iskall chuckles. “They don’t have the awesome teamwork and diverse wizards like us.” He leans back, watching Joe standing before a sphinx. It’s the riddle event. “Maybe if they stopped worrying about money and status they’d do better.” 

Grian hisses in pain, only for Etho to hush him. From the field, the sphinx stalks Joe. “I am alive, but without breath. I am as cold as life in death. I’m never thirsty, though I always drink.” The feminine voice purrs from the sandy skin of the sphinx’s human face. Feline haunches roll and rock under feathered wings and fur, but Joe only looks to the sky, his glasses hiding the emotions in his eyes as he thinks. “What am I?” 

The hermits hold their breath, watching Joe in the lion’s den. His lips curl up, and his clasps his hands behind his back. “You’re a fish.” 

The sphinx pauses, then dips her head. “Well done, poet. How about this? What can you break, even if you never pick it up or touch it?” 

Joe snickers. “Easy, a heart.” 

“How very poetic, Joe of the Hills.” The creature pauses directly in front of him. “But not what I was looking for.” Teeth snarl and claws glisten, and the embroidered fabric of Joe’s cape is flung across the field, glasses clattering to the side. The hermits collectively wince, even Grian feeling the ache in his bones that Joe will feel come tomorrow. “The next contestant. Ian.” 

The engineer mage bounces to the mark, completely unconcerned by the vicious lion-bodied creature before him. He wipes his brow, leaving a trail of black oil across his forehead. “I’m ready for whatever you got, miss sphinx!”

“Hmm, alright then.” She chuckles, sitting on her haunches. A lion’s tail, with feathered tips, flicks like a clock against the grass. “What can bring back the dead; make you cry, make you laugh, make you young; is born in an instant, yet lasts a lifetime?”

“Memories!” Ian quips, grinning proudly. “Let’s see if you got any better.” 

The sphinx growls. “Alright, engineer.” She offers another riddle. And another answer. Iskall leans forward, biting his lip. The current leader has only two correct answers- Joe and another wizard were the only ones clever enough to come up with correct answers with enough time. One final question. And one final answer. The sphinx stands up after Ian responds, shoulders rolling. “Congratulations, Ian of the Crafted. You have won my challenge.” 

“At least it wasn’t a guild that won. I don’t think we’ve heard the end of it.” Mumbo whispers, sitting back. Grian winces, pulling his arm against the sling it’s in, to which Etho swats him to keep it still. 

“Stress is next!” Iskall grins, exciting to see his friend perform. Stress chose this event herself, and no one dared question her claim. And as she stands among the other wizards, she’s easily the most out of place. Surrounded by large men and mages of strength and muscle, many hardly wearing much more than whatever their guild deems necessary and often glistening in oil, Stress crosses her legs and pats the warm material of her ice blue dress. She casts a quick spell, and her short brown hair caresses pale cheeks as an icy wind cools her down. Iskall leans back, shaking his head. “She’s going to freaking crush this.” 

And crush it she does. No one, not even the audience is prepared to watch the short, dainty ice wizard lift more weight than any oiled, burly man around her. Her magic, and her own strength, easily lifts the shelled form of a tarasque, a hydra, and a baku in one wall of ice. Not just lift the still living creatures, but doing so with enough care that each beast is left unharmed and even cradled by the ice rink beneath their feet. As soon as the creatures are back on their feet, Stress is immediately cooing- ignoring her gold medal in lieu of praising the hydra’s many heads for all their work helping her win. 

Truly a strange mage for the strength event.

###### 

“Are you sure they’re not here just to compete? You really think they’re here to...stop him?” A black cloaked figure whispers, eyes following the ice wizard as she skips to her friends. From the nosebleed section, the brothers can hardly see each individual person. But the hermits are easy enough to pick out. They stand out, unlike the other guilds. Each person with a unique outfit, unique features. 

“If I know my brother, he can never take anything sitting down.” Red fabric moves as the white haired wizard talks, sharp eyes never leaving their target. A mask like that can be seen from a mile away. “And his friends aren’t much better.” 

“They’re incredible!” The third figure, clad in a white cloak to hide his mop of rainbow hair, stands to get a better look. His friend grabs him by the arm and pulls his rear back to his seat. “These people are the true heroes we nee-”

“Can’t you be quiet for a minute, loudmouth?” His brother seethes, glancing at their contact. They’ve only just met him today, despite being in contact for much longer. 

“I don’t know if I’d call them ‘heroes’, but they’re all Lairyon has.” The contact pulls his cloak’s mask up over his nose, tugging on the long white hairs stuck in between. 

“A ragtag team of criminals, rejects, and outcasts is the only hope for Lairyon. Great.” The black cloaked brother huffs, setting his head on a propped up hand. 

“How much different is that from us- or, I mean, the crown and his advisor?” The white robe lowers his voice after his brother slaps his arm, sharp gaze daring for him to try that again. “Lairyon needs light to return, and I think these hermits are exactly what we need.” 

“I hope you’re right, your majesty.” The contact tugs on his long white ponytail. “They’ll need more help if they expect to survive. Which is why I came to you.” 

“Well, let’s get started?” The three stand up, disappearing amongst the crowd. There’s a few people they’ve seen on the field who can help the hermits. Help from afar- as Ex always does.


	20. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to lunch, the hermits are attacked. Jealousy rages within the guilds that are losing, but the hermits are unable to fight back. Will they even make it to the event in time?
> 
> Cw: fight scene, blood and wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au and editing has been created by Red, @theguardiansofredland on tumblr! Check him out for the designs, stories, and asks about this au!

“We make a great team, that paper birdy didn’t even know what happened to it.” Tango laughs, grabbing Grian into a headlock and playfully nuzzling his fist into the golden locks. His body aches, and he feels weak, but prideful. The other hermits around them chatter excitedly, walking down the smooth, clean roads of the noble district. Even the canals of swampwater are tiled and cleaned of dirt and debris. Streets Mumbo knows well- he grew up here. So of course he took the chance to go to his favorite cafe. 

“I’d say I’m happy with bronze, but I really wanted to beat that Mitch guy. Plus, pirates always love gold.” Cleo hums, looking at the medal around her neck. Of course, she’ll always take beating some 30 other guilds to get this medal, their moans and complaints of being beat in the wrestling challenge. She rubs her wrist, wincing. “Though I’ll admit, I haven’t felt this burnt out from magic in years. It’s like that one event sucked it all out of my body.” 

“I feel that way every time I step into the ring.” Tango states, earning a nod from Grian as well. “After day one, I could hardly get out of bed. I felt like a dragon was sitting on my chest.” A few others murmur agreement, and the conversation stops. Not for long, thanks to Grian.

“Scar, Mumbo, are you two ready to show everyone your skills?” Grian grins, fluttering to the front of the group. 

“I was born ready for the creative event. I’ve been dreamin’ about this since I was a boy.” Scar sighs, feeling giddy. He’s already got an idea in mind, building and creating within his own head. 

“I...I’m not so sure. Can’t someone else step in for me? I don’t think I can get my magic to work well enough, much less to beat the others like you all have.” Mumbo’s terrified. He wishes he had the confidence that Scar just exudes. He has no clue what he’ll build. He’s not even sure if his magic will appear today. 

“You’ve got it, man.” Doc appears beside him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself, otherwise I’ll take control and make you believe.” Mumbo freezes, smiling weakly. He’s not sure if he should be comforted or not by Doc’s offer.

He turns, eyes glimmering upon setting his gaze on the cafe. He came here all the time when he was younger, before he joined the hermits. He would come here to study, to relax, sometimes just to get his favorite tea from the shop. Being back here is strange, the nostalgia mixing with nerves. What would his friends think of this place? Are they out of the normal? Doc and Grian definitely are. 

Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the door’s wrought iron handle. His hand goes right through the metal, iron warping and wiggling like air in the summer heat. “What in the…”  
The ripples cascade out, across the air and townhouses. The mosaics shatter before reforming, and the entire street is empty. But the hermits aren’t alone. “You freaks think you own this place, don’t you? That you’re anything like us? That you can just waltz into the noble district because you’ve won the past two days?” 

Doc immediately summons his magic, ready for a fight. More than a dozen other mages appear from the illusion. Torn shoulder pauldrons, glistening with gold spikes, announces them being from the Guild of Gedeon. A council guild. Behind Doc, he can hear other hermits drawing their circles, blues and yellows shimmering off the illusion they're trapped in. “Let us go, you’re messing with the wrong guild.” 

“Ohoho, win a couple of events and suddenly you think you’re a guild? No, no.” A burly man with feral eyes stares down Doc, shoving him and Cleo towards Scar and Mumbo. “You’re messing up everything. I don’t know why Magistrate Dolios let scum mar such a prestigious event.”

“Maybe it’s because he realized ‘scum like us’ are better at magic than you. Didn’t want the crowd to get bored of the same old dopey outfits and subpar spells.” Cleo’s words have hardly crossed her lips before fists collide with them, sending her splayed across the ground. Doc needs no further initiative, activating his circle and taking control of the mage that struck his friend. His eyes close, and open again looking at himself. Ugh, this body smells. He turns around, meaty hands instead crashing into the Gedeon’s own guildmembers. Three fly out of the illusion, out of the bubble that traps them where no one can watch the fight. Beneath another, the ground opens up beneath her to reveal hellfire. The flames claw at her feet, dragging her into the open chasm. Swallowing her up. 

Doc is thrown out of his puppet, head spinning and blood pooling from his own nose. Grian’s shout rings in his ear, making his head spin and splinter. He looks up, seeing the magical bludgeon disappear like a ghost from a Gedeon member. “You’re gonna regret messing with us. Messing with the order of things. You don’t belong here, none of you do.” 

The illusioner stoops low, snapping his meaty fingers and nodding the gang forward. “And we’ll show you why you don’t mess with the Council. The wrath of the Guild of Gedeon is not something you walk away from.” 

The fight is intense. Six hermits against about a dozen combatants. What’s worse, the Guild of Gedeon is an offensive group. When the arcane guard can’t do a job, when a strongarm is needed, the Gedeons are the first in line. Cleo holds her own, blood boiling under her dead green skin. Her sword doesn’t back down from a fight, and neither does the poltergeists she summons to aid in the attack. She’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from being in the middle of the battle. Doc jumps from person to person, tapping into their magic and turning it back onto their own teammates. Scar does his best to protect Doc in the process, throwing up walls of rock only for them to be crushed by a volatile spell shot their way. 

But they aren’t winning. Cleo and Doc’s attacks aren’t enough to stave off the fights and fragments of magic flown their way. Tango’s magic is all but gone, sapped from his body. Where did it all go? He had it all this morning, and the bird chase event couldn’t have been enough for him to lose it all! Even worse, Grian’s magic sputtered and died halfway through his attack. Mumbo peeks out from behind Scar’s barrier, hissing with pain as a bolt of hot rock is flung against his forehead. “Grian, what in the world is going on with your magic?” 

“I...I don’t know, Mumbo!” He flicks his wrists, but nothing happens. His arms snap in a quick dance, and he does manage to summon his spell. The wind is hardly more than a summer breeze in his hair. “It’s not there, I’m drained of magic, of energy! But how, I hardly used anything!”

“It’s like you’re me!” The four hiding behind the wall are crushed as the rocks collapse. Trapped, unable to fight off the onslaught. Scar can only block the worst attacks, but bruises and cuts blossom across the hermits.

Until the bell of the capitol building tolls a single time. As quickly as the fight started, it stops. Scar lowers his walls and arm, brushing the blood from his cheek. Immediately, he searches for his friends. Doc struggles to his feet, ready to fight. But Cleo, Grian, and Tango look like they’ve been fighting for hours. They’re completely out of magic, skin pale and eyes glazed with weakness. Something is very wrong. Is there a suppressor mage here? No, that would affect everyone. Mumbo scrabbles backwards, wrist hanging limp. “Good luck getting to check in for the rest of the events, freaks. We’ll see who’s in the labyrinth event now.” 

The illusion drops, and the busy street returns. Bustling crowds, horse-drawn carriages and carts passing by the hermits. As alone as when they first arrived at the cafe. People step around them, glancing at the battered group but never offering help. Scar gasps, wobbling to his feet. “The competition! Mumbo, we’re going to be late!” He pulls Mumbo to his feet. 

“You guys go ahead.” Doc growls, sitting down on a pile of rubble. He rubs blood off of his cheek. “I don’t think the others can get up. They’re too weak.” 

“What caused that? How could Grian not use his magic?” He’s an S-Class, he has ultimate control of his magic. But he acted like he was...well, Mumbo. And now? Now his friends are hurt. They lost the fight- no, they were thrashed. And he wasn’t even able to do anything. 

“I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicion who the dark mage is now.” Doc waves the two off, before snarling. “Go! I’ve got the others!” And he’ll be sure Gedeon’s leader, that monster Sidero, gets a taste of what he just did to his friends. He must be the dark mage, trying to stop them. 

But as Doc watches Mumbo and Scar flee, and he helps Grian, Tango, and Cleo to their feet, he’s only made them angrier.

###### 

“How am I...gah, how am I supposed to take a giant cat statue and make it move?” Mumbo hisses, looking up at the relief. Scar’s winning sculpture for the creative event was incredible. He could practically see every hair and whisker of Jellie, carved from stone using her owner’s terraforming magic. Even her wings are feathered, each barb as thin and interlocking as the real thing. It’s easy to see why Scar won the creative contest, hands down.

And here he is ruining it all with his own magic. The council really outdid themselves, pulling a twist like this. His magic falters, and the redstone dust collapses to the ground. Mumbo’s chest feels heavy, lungs pressed and heart clenching. His head feels dizzy, and his magic is nearly impossible to tap into. Surely this is all just nerves? But even Scar looked exhausted, like he was struggling to breathe, to stand after his magic. Exactly what Grian and Tango looked like. 

What’s happening? He can’t help but look over his shoulder. Other guilds are working on the creations their teammates created. Whatever was before them, they had to automate. And from what Mumbo can see, most others are well ahead of him. Especially Ian, deep in the bowels of the contraption Sky had built. He can be heard swearing, the conductive gold making his machine move when he doesn’t want it to. At least Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about that. 

But that doesn’t mean he can do it. The redstone dust falls apart, showering the ground beneath him. He’s going to disappoint everyone, he’s going to ruin Scar’s wonderful statue. He’s going to be the only wizard in this event that can’t even get the thing to move! He falls to his knees, the pressure mounting in his lungs. Making it hard to breathe, crushing in on him. And he’s exhausted, even though he’s barely used any of his magic. He can’t even get it to appear. Like always. All this work, all his hopes to win, will mean nothing if he can’t get his magic to summon. He’s a multi-mage, but he can never prove it. He can never show off his powers, and it’s exactly why he could never join any guild. Looking around, he can see all the guilds in the field he applied to. All of them said no, laughed in his face and ridiculed him when his magic failed to show itself. And now here he is, proving them all right. Making a laughing stock of the Order of Hermits. 

“You can do it, Mumbo!” He picks his head up, looking around. He doesn’t recognize that voice. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not coming from any of the hermits. The voice is loud, echoing over the crowd’s low roar. It’s Ecto, one of the wanderers. Beside her, the other two teammates are cheering him on as well. Red’s practically bouncing in his seat, about to fall over the railing as he yells as loud as possible.

More voices join them. He can hear Iskall, shouting for him to breathe, to remember his training. He can hear some sort of soliloquy being written across the sky, intertwined with Joe’s voice. Zedaph and Impulse are holding up a sign, nearly knocking False and Wels with the board. Even the rest of Team Crafted was cheering for him. TFC is watching Mumbo, blue eyes gazing through silvery hair. He gives a small nod and a smile, his own way of showing his encouragement.

All of the hermits are his family, the family he never had. A family that would support him, help him, be with him no matter what. That never gave up on him. And TFC was like the father he never had, with a calm voice as smooth as obsidian and as strong as diamond. Someone he could go to with all his fears and faults, and know he wouldn’t be ridiculed or put down. That TFC would listen, and offer sound advice. Advice he can hear echoing in his head now. “ _It isn’t about the amount of times you fall down, Mumbo. It’s about how many times you get back up._ ” 

So he gets back up again. He brushes the sand and dirt off the black fabric of his trousers, ignoring the physical pain in his chest and the unwieldy way his head spins. He closes his eyes, hand outstretched. In his mind, he can see his magic circle. The ninety degree turns ending in dots, the petal-like curls from the center. His hands move unconsciously, following the pattern of motions he created. It’s like ramming open a door, trying to find his magic. Trying to connect to it. But once he’s in, it washes all over his body. 

He opens his eyes, his circle cast and the redstone moving to his bidding. Climbing up and ingraining in the pores of Scar’s stonework, following lines weathered through the rock. Lightning shoots through the circuits, from his fingertips and breathing energy into the cat. The haunches of the massive statue move, toe beans uprooting from the sand as Jellie comes to life. Redstone dances across her granite tail, flicking side to side. Mumbo can’t help but laugh, knocked over into the sand by a giant stone cat head rubbing into his chest. Scar’s incredible creation, brought to life with his redstone magic. Given energy through his lightning. 

Statue Jellie opens it’s mouth to meow, but no sound comes out. She turns her head, gazing across the crowd surrounding her. Her eyes stop at the crown seat, where the Council sits in awe. Redstone turns on all across her body, his magic branching out onto each hair as it rises and her back arches. “Whoa, what’s all that about?” 

Mumbo has never seen Jellie hiss at anyone, and even if this stone statue is just a version of her, his magic seems to have brought her to life. And her eyes are as thin as paper, ears turned back and hissing as she faces the Council. Mumbo runs over to the massive kitty, trying to calm her down. Lightning spreads across the redstone, forcing the stone statue to calm. For a second, Mumbo swears he can hear Magistrate Dolios’s voice, though his head is swimming from exhaustion. “Well done, boy. What i wouldn’t give for such...raw power. Soon.”


	21. True Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back to haunt Mumbo as a familiar, familial face returns to his life and offers him the unthinkable. Is Mumbo loyal to the hermits, or his he willing to return to the place he grew up in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU and so many wonderful ideas- like this scene with Mumbo!- are created by my coauthor Red! please give them love here and on their tumblr @theguardiansofredland

“Today’s the big day.” Iskall whispers, looking around the room. Once again packed full of hermits sitting on beds, on furniture, and on the floor. Mumbo hasn’t taken off his gold medal since he won it yesterday, even sleeping with such a spectacular prize. The only hermit missing from the group meeting was False. She made it to the final round of the endurance battle, facing off wave after wave of illusions. Pushed beyond exhaustion, hardly able to stand, she backed down from the last wave. She claimed she could’ve gone forward, but a sudden feeling of pressure on her shoulders, her head swimming and her magic falling from her bones left her unable to continue. She’s still in bed now, recuperating. Grian did his best to heal her illness, but when he attempted to, he discovered her magic was nearly drained. Beyond anything a spell could cause. She even looked pale, the pink color of her cheeks lost and her hair a platinum blonde. The gold medal was won by Avon, beating out Doc and Jerome soundly, and False by a single round. 

But Doc was still at the meeting. He didn’t last nearly as long as False, and while he was tired, it was nothing like what she has. Grian was able to heal his aching lungs, the wounds sustained from their fight with the Guild of Gideon. He was tired, but nothing was going to stop him from being a part of his own heist. He’s been looking forward to this for too long. To finally discover who’s the bastard that destroyed Gildara, that attacked the Asklepions, and tried to take out his friends, his family. 

“I never thought I’d say this, but we’re leading the Championship by leaps and bounds.” TFC chuckles, shaking his head. “I know we surprised the guilds, the Council, and all of Lairyon. But you all surprised me as well.”

“Guess Grian’s pep talk really brought the team spirit out in us.” Etho tosses a ball in the air, catching it and bouncing off Doc’s head. He’s the only one brave enough to anger the criminal. 

“Either way, whatever happens today, I just want to tell you all that I am so proud of all the work we’ve done. And best of all, no one suspects a thing as to why we’re really here. That being said, let’s go over today for everyone.” TFC clears his throat, skimming across the scroll in his hands. “This morning has the water battle. Ren, you’re going to be going against one of the wanderers, and judged based on your performance against all the other contestants. Stress, you’ll be playing in the kipling dodgeball. That’s a last one standing event, and we all know how hard you throw.” The guildmaster hums with a smirk, continuing down the schedule. “And in the afternoon is capture the flag. Tango?”  
“They won’t even know what happened to their flag.” He grins, the healing wound on his cheek burning. But none of that will stop him from grinning. 

“That’s what i thought. Tonight is the duel- the biggest event of the games. All of Lairyon will be watching. Which makes it the best time for the heist. Our job is to put on a show while our infiltration team here learns the truth. Boys-” TFC stares directly at the heist team. “Do whatever it takes, we have your back. The rest of us, we’ll be supporting our fighters in the duel. If we win at least one event today, we’ve secured our spot in the Labyrinth run on the final day.” 

“Do you think we’ll actually win?” Joe questions. The labyrinth run is only for the top two teams. It’s a challenge beyond all challenges, an ever changing maze filled with enigmatic enchantments and feral beasts.   
“If not us, then certainly Team Crafted or the wanderers will. Either way, we made history. All of us, being the first nonguild team to win the championship.” TFC smiles, rolling up the scroll and slipping it in his bag. “Good luck to everyone, I dunno about you guys but I’m gonna go get myself a celebratory drink before the water battle. One that doesn’t taste like swampwater.” 

TFC hops over the rest of the hermits, sauntering out before anyone else can realize the meeting is over. Ren hops to his feet, only to be grabbed and held still by Doc. “We have our own heist meeting, man.” 

The guild filters out, but the sea of hermits is cut through by one sole fish swimming upstream. Quentin grabs at Mumbo’s sleeves, missing once, twice, before finally grabbing hold of the black fabric and tugging him to the side. “Mumbo, right? You- you’re Mumbo, the one that beat Ian in the tech competition? The multi-mage?”

Mumbo looks around, but the hermits have disappeared within the woodworks. “Ah, yep. That’s me. Is something wrong, chap?” 

“There’s some people down in the tavern that asked for you.” He pauses, looking up at him. “You specifically.” 

Mumbo frowns, his heart picking up pace and thumping against his chest. He clutches the black robes, trying to still the racing muscle trapped within his ribs. Is it the arcane guard? Do they know why the hermits are here? That they’re still congregating as a guild, not just a team? But why him specifically? Do they know he’s the easiest, perhaps they’re using him as bait, the fastest to lure into a trap? “O-Okay. Can you l-lead the way?” 

The kipling nods, blue and light orange curls bouncing across his finned ears. He guides Mumbo down the open, rickety steps. He jumps over the last one, to which Mumbo trips over as it buckles under him. He tumbles to the sticky wooden floor, rubbing his head. With one eye open, he winces and sees who’s here for him. 

“Mumbo. Still never got your own two feet beneath you?” Mumbo’s breath falls out from his lips, his father’s voice cutting across the wood. The upper crust, noble accent pricks against Mumbo’s ears, immediately souring his mood. He hasn’t seen his father since the morning of his last guild exam. The last thing his father had said to him- until now- was to never return home if he failed another test. 

“Father? What are you-” He falls silent as soon as his father raises his hand, motioning for him to be silent and stand. Dammit, Mumbo hates how he still has control over him like that. Hasn’t a year with the hermits taught him anything? 

“You did well, boy. Your magic has grown leaps and bounds since I last laid eyes upon you. I saw your performance yesterday. Yesterday, I had a son again.” Mumbo’s head snaps up, hearing that word fall from his father’s lips again. Mumbo’s lips open and close, only weak noises escaping his throat. A sharp glare from the grey eyes they share silences him once more. “Mumbo, it’s time for you to come home. You have brought honor to our house, as a champion,” His father’s eyes fall to the medal at Mumbo’s neck, eyeing the prize hungrily. “I’m sure every guild will welcome you after that.” 

Mumbo’s eyes snap up, and he steps back. “What? Why would I leave a perfectly good guild? Why would I leave my friends?” 

“Those ruffians are not a guild, Mumbo. Listen to your father, and come ho-” He reaches forward, only for his hand to jerk back as a spark of lightning crosses between father and son. 

“No! They’re my friends, they’re my guild! They care about me more than you ever did!” The tavern crackles with energy, lightning shooting out in small branches. 

“Be silent, boy. You’ve forgotten your place as a nobleman.” A dangerous glare meets Mumbo’s angered stare. 

“No! I’m done listening to you! The day you disowned me, I found a better family!” He remembers the pain of rejection, lost and alone in the alleys of Milliara. No family, no one to help him when a gang of robbers attacked. His father didn’t come to help- he was saved by Grian. A stranger saved him, now his best friend. The one who invited him to join the guild. 

“Those heathens? They aren’t a guild, Mumbo, they’re criminals! Would you really prefer that to your own flesh and blood? Your fam-”

“You’re not my family! You said it yourself. The hermits are always there for me, always my family no matter what. Whether I’m a champion or an amateur. They loved me despite my struggles, cared for me and welcomed me. It was their care, their devotion, their support that won this gold medal! This is for them, because of them. It’s not for you.” Mumbo steps up, feet leaving the ground as he looms over his father. “Grian, TFC, Xisuma...they’re better people than you ever were to me. They’re my family. I’m already home. Now- leave.” 

Mumbo doesn’t know when the nobleman leaves, he just hears the sound of the tavern door closing, the empty air before him. And that sticky floor, the old wooden boards, and the crooked iron nails are the best sight ever. He wipes his tears on his sleeve, crackling with lightning as his feet come to rest on the ground once again. He remembers to breathe, air rushing in and out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a mug of ale in front of him. He looks up, seeing Quentin leaning against the bar. How long was he there? Did he see that all? “You look like you could use a beer, man.” 

And with friends, even the worst tasting swill was the best thing ever.

###### 

Mumbo, Quentin, and a few other hermits joined to walk to the coliseum together. Grian and Iskall noticed Mumbo’s tearstained eyes, and did their best to keep him laughing. But he hardly needed it, just being with them was the best of all. The hermits take their seat, Quentin leaving to join his own team. He nodded to Stress, wishing her good luck in the dodgeball tournament they share later on. 

Hovering at visual height to the seats, an orb of freefloating water hangs in the air. Like a water droplet suspended midsplash, held aloft by a number of water mages- most kipling. In the water, the hermits can see Ren getting used to his wet surroundings. Across the other side of the battlefield, Red is floating. At home in her element. 

“Ah, this is going to be easy. Red’s so sweet and kind, Ren will easily win.” Stress chuckles, leaning forward and watching the two. “It’s not a tournament style- he just ‘as ta impress the judges an’ win this wee battle. He’s got it in the bag- Ren’ll show ‘em what an imagination wizard can do.” 

They're on the edge of their seats, peering into the water. Across the rippling mass, they can see the crown seat, the Council watching as Ren and Red bow. Magistrate Dolios leans back, resting his cheek on his hand. A small smirk appears on his face as the fight begins. 

Ren doesn’t wait, making the first move. A shark conjures up from his imagination, teeth in a circular jaw gnashing towards Red. He doesn’t back down, brushing his hand to the side with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face. A massive internal wave throws the shark off course, the undertow pulling on both his sundappled cloak and Ren’s ears. The imaginary shark dissipates into a school of colorful fish, schooling along the interface between air and water. 

The smile on Red’s face changes. Glittering, innocent eyes grow sharp, and Ren tucks his tail between his legs. He...may have underestimated the little kipling. The water around him shifts forward, dragging Ren closer to the kipling. He’s trapped in the rip current, unable to swim free. Even though he can breathe underwater thanks to mimicking a kipling, it’s still terrifying. He’s within striking distance, and Red doesn’t waste a second. A flash of light, illuminating from nowhere blinds Ren, but he rebounds quick thanks to his sunglasses. 

Just in time, too. Poison seeps through the water, brushing against his arm and leaving it numb. It would have paralyzed him, if he didn’t swim back. He imagines a barrier around him, his magic circle appearing briefly before turning into what he has in his head. How quickly the tides have turned, Ren forced into defense. 

Water tumbles and turns Ren, his own magic devoted solely to keeping himself from harm. A shield to block poison, a rubber ball to take on the electrocution. He sloshes backwards, the tips of his ears peeking out of the water bubble. Ren lowers his shields, creating coral platforms and jumping across. Rushing towards Red. He creates a giant fish hook, slinging it around Red. She only laughs, looking down at the ornately carved hook. “I’m not a guppy, you know.”

“I know.” Ren smirks, then pulls Red forward. Grabbing hold of his arm- just long enough for the magic to settle in. “Ladies get in line.” 

“Not a lady.” Red squeaks out, just in time before the hook disappears and he’s thrown back. A massive wave nearly casting Red from the water. Ren grins, rolling his shoulders and getting a feel for the new magic he’s mimicking. It’s only as strong as he is, but he knows he can make use of Red’s magic. Across the water, Red shakes his head, regaining his senses from the spin cycle. “Now it’s fun.” 

Red twirls, cloak wrapping around her as a curtain. She extends her arm, and snaps her fingers. Beneath the dueling wizards, kiplings jump back as the water they command is pulled from their control. The entire sphere of water is at Red’s command, tightening inwards. Forcing Ren to flee the constricting edge. He shoves his hands out. It keeps the water directly around him from disappearing, but he’s playing tug of war with a mage much more powerful than him. 

He huffs, breath and chest rising and falling. How is he already tired? Why does his throat feel like it’s closing up, his lungs pressing inwards? Why does it feel like he’s drowning, even though he can clearly breathe? He needs to win. Ren shoves his hands forward, and a tsunami pulses forward. 

The kipling just barely stops the massive wave from knocking him out. It thrashes Red, pulling on his fins and hair. One arm is cut against the coral outcrops, skeins of blood dancing in the orbiting water. For a battle, that was the first blood drawn- the beauty of magic. Ren puts his hands on his hips, accomplished. 

The sight of blood in the water, the scent, turns the kipling into a shark. Before Ren can realize what’s coming for him, it’s too late. The bubble reels backwards, gathering in strength and pulling on Ren. He stays rooted in place. Sharp teeth appear under a dangerous smile from Red. 

Ren’s doomed. He knows that. The wave surges forward, growing and ripplings. Cresting and crashing. Right on top of him. His safety bubble pops, the rushing water sending him sprawling into the mud at the floor of the stadium. His ears flick water, gasping air and coughing up the water still in his lungs. He completely forgot about the crowd until he hears the raucous cheering around him. Water splashes beside him, and he turns to see Red plopped beside him. Smiling that innocent smiling again. They’re both exhausted, beyond what they should be, struggling to breath. Red tilts her head, shaking hands with Ren. “That was an epic fight, your magic is super cool.” 

“Thanks, my dude. That was a sound thrashing. I bequeath the win to you. And I can only hope I stay on your good side.” Ren laughs, sitting up and shaking water off his hair and fur. Even though he lost, that was the most fun he’s had since Eremita. 

He could go for a fight like that everyday, if it didn’t mean he felt this horrible pain in his chest, the exhaustion in his body. What’s causing this? Why does he feel so tired? Why does his skin look pale, lost of color? Why does even his clothes seem dull?

And why does his magic feel like it’s gone missing?


	22. The Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since the day there were contracted to investigate the dark magic in Gildara, the hermits have been left to wonder who is controlling this plague on Lairyon.
> 
> Today, they find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au is the product of Red (hkpika), as well as being such a wonderful beta reader in making this chapter as big and beautiful as it should be. Check her out on tumblr at theguardiansofredland!

“Aw, shucks. Stress didn’t win.” Zed pouts, looking at the note Joe sent. In his most inconspicuous way possible, of course- wrapped to a cinnamon bird. “But hey, Tango won capture the flag!” 

“That means we’ve got the labyrinth on lock, right?” Ren plays with his hair, still regaining some sense of his strength back after the fight with Red. He’s proud of his silver medal- it was a hard won prize. But he’d rather have his magic back in working order. It’s been weak and unstable since then. He doesn’t know why. 

“Never thought we’d end up in there, but guess we all surprised ourselves.” Etho laughs. They’re a breath away from being champions of the Chimaera’s Cup. 

They’re also a breath away from finding the truth. The gang sits, looking at the capitol building from the roof of a townhouse. Hidden in shadow, the only way up here is through Cub’s portal magic. The only one not in the conversation is Doc, his eyes set on the soldiers as the guard changes. He doesn’t realize that Etho is calling his name until the same ball from the morning meeting is bouncing off his metal half of his head. “Doc! Dude, what’s even the plan? You’ve been keeping us in the dark.” 

“I didn’t want any of you all to become targets. Less people to know, less people to interrogate.” He clears his throat, tugging on the fabric of his gloves. He trusts his fellow hermits to death and beyond, but he’s learned a thing or two from his time as a criminal. He sits back, glancing at the four hermits beside him. “We have time and circumstance on our side for now. The guards are light and everyone in Lairyon is watching the duel. Thanks to a few of us always sitting out the past few days, no one will be suspicious of us being missing. Cub- we need you to be on lookout. If someone starts to get suspicious, notice us, whatever it is, you deal with them how you do best and warn us immediately.”

“Roger that, Doccy.” Cub grins, playing with the magic twirling around his fingers. Itching to portal again.

“The rest of us are going in. Ren, can you mimic Cub’s magic? We could use a portal or two, at least until we need your other imaginative spells. Zed, you and I are going to be using our magic to keep anyone from getting suspicious. If we’re seen, you or I need to take control and turn them away. We’re the defense.” Zed nods, bouncy blonde curls hiccuping from his head. “That leaves Etho- I’m pretty sure you know what you’re doing.” 

“Jumping through shadows, scouting ahead and sneaking around?” Etho shrugs, grinning. “It's what I do best, I’m not called a Shadow Ninja for nothing.” 

“Once we’re in, we need to find the offices of the guildmasters- one of them is the dark mage. If all goes well, we’ll have the name of the bastard and Cub can give us the escape without ever being seen.” And just like that, the team splits off. Jumping through the blue rift centered on the flat roof, the infiltration team reappears at the steps of the capitol. No one walks in or out, the only people at the normally busy building being the guards. 

Guards which Zedaph easily shepherds to look away as they walk in. Just like that, the team is in the capitol. Walking across the plush velvet floor once again. The bitter memory seeps across their mind and their faces sour, looking up at the staircase where they first met Magistrate Dolios. How welcoming, how friendly he seemed. His charismatic smile, his soft words that commanded attention and respect. How they were thrown out, like pests after helping him. Then, the halls were busy with government officials, interns, secretaries, and staff members running from place to place. Now their footsteps are the only noise, padded against the carpet but echoing off the gilded walls.

Etho jumps into Doc’s shadow, flying from umbra to umbra all across the halls. The other hermits can only catch glimpses of dark blue fabric and white hair. He’s back a few minutes later, silent shoes plotting against the ground as he reappears from behind a column. “The guildmaster offices are in the opposite wing that we went into for the magistrate. They were all dark, so I couldn’t get in- which also means they’re gone. I noticed a few other people around, but we should easily be able to avoid them. Otherwise…” 

Zed and Doc share a toothy grin, and the puppeteer motions for the others to follow him. Up the steps, his tattered robes brush against marble stairs and the gilded threading of the velvet. Brows furrow and arch as mismatched irises glare from the rises of his eyes. Walking right into the mouth of the beast, shoulders hunched forward with a determination for the truth. 

Down the hall, the four march towards the offices. “Etho, which one is Sidero’s?” 

“The Guild of Gedeon’s? Uhhh, his was the second one-” Etho’s voice stops with his feet. He refuses to even breathe, eyes wide and spooked. Staring down the hallway, and being stared back. Ren and Doc realize they’ve been seen, bumping into Etho. Zed is lost in his own mind, not noticing until he’s falling backwards after running into the other three. 

Just down the hall, spooked eyes pin the hermits to their spot, like a deer in lamplight. A young man, hands full of scrolls and documents, a trail of paper left in his wake. He blinks as realization hits. “You… you aren’t supposed to be here. I-I-I need to call-” 

Etho’s gone, falling from the shadowed ceiling and grabbing the young intern. One hand clasps over his mouth, the other flicking the chains of his kusarigama, trapping the papers and arms, like a snake coiling around its prey. “Cat got your tongue? Let’s hope it stays that way.” 

Doc turns, ducking under Ren and plucking Zed from the floor. “Your time to shine, sheep boy.” 

“Oh! Righty-o.” Zed springs to his feet, stepping forward and offering an apologetic smile. He hates doing things like this, but it’s a better option than the force Doc or Etho would use. “Listen, we weren’t here. You’re gonna walk out, maybe get yourself some really good bubble tea. I saw an awesome shop down the roa-”

“Zed!” Doc snaps, looking over his shoulder. They don’t have time for this, anyone else could appear at any second. 

“Ah, yes right, either way walk right on out and forget you saw any of this.” Zedaph’s magic conjures at his fingertips, a circle the color of fresh hay pressing towards the intern. “Oh, and you didn’t hear my name. It’s a secret, and all that. Like a superhero.” 

Etho frees the intern, and Zedaph sends him on his way to the street. Dazed and without memory of what just happened, but alive. Which is more than what he feared Doc and Etho would do. They both have quite the reputation. 

One problem solved, Doc sets back to their task. At the second door, a gilded plaque with scrawling letters announces who takes residence in the office. Sidero, guildmaster of the Guild of Gedeon, head councilmember. Most feared wizard in all of Lairyon. And of course, the hermits managed to anger him. 

“Alright my dudes, hold onto your tails.” Ren’s circle begins ruddy, but a light blue color filters in as his imagination magic mimics Cub’s portal spell. He’s imitated Cub a few times, but only ever in the… not-so-controlled environment of the training grounds. This is in the field. An even less controlled environment. But nothing stops the Ren Diggity Dog, especially not the unknown. He tosses the circle against the door. 

The wood ripples, the pattern within the circle swirling inward and opening the space within. A portal into the room, through the door. The edges crackle, threatening to close in at any second, but none of that matters to him. Ren grins, tail wagging and brushing against the backs of his calves. Without a second thought, he steps into the portal. 

A simple brush against the delicate outer ring by his fluffy tail, and the magic collapses inward. One foot in, the portal tightens around his waist. Trapping him in between the wood, warped around his body. “Uh oh.” 

“Oh great, he’s stuck.” Doc sighs, rubbing his thumb and index finger against his brows. “Ren? Ren, do you think you can open the door?” 

“Uh, hold on.” His foot scrapes against the carpet, sandal falling free while he reaches for the handle. It jiggles, then the door swings open. Caught in the door, Ren’s ears are tipped to the side and his sunglasses hardly hide the embarrassment in his eyes. Etho pulls on the caught wizard’s arms, attempting to free him as Zed and Doc sneak into the room. “Stopstopstop you’re gonna rip me apart dude!”

“Can’t you open a new portal?” Etho whispers, wiggling a finger at where wood morphs around Ren’s waist. 

While the two continue to argue and search for a solution, Zed and Doc dig through Sidero’s office. Papers torn to shreds litter the office, some even pinned to the wall by throwing knives that litter the ornate carved material. Zed steps over a broken vase, frowning at the ornate glaze shattered by anger. Doc picks up a wrinkled document, reading through the letter and shaking his head. The bloodstained papers recount Sidero’s cruelty in his own words, his demands that his guild works harder and punishing those that step out of line. Doc growls, slamming the paper down on the desk. “This means nothing! He has to be the dark mage, why else would he attack us?” 

“Was he missing his belt at any of the events?” Ren questions, before hissing at Etho. When Doc and Zed shake his head, he drops his own. “Maybe...I dunno, check behind the portraits?” 

Zed looks over his shoulder, staring at the massive painting of Foresta. The verdant forest has been slashed by claws, the canvas shredded by Sidero’s bacca claws. Even without getting close, he can tell nothing is hidden behind that painting. Or any. “I don’t think Sidero’s the dark wizard. I guess he was just pissed his guild wasn’t winning.” 

Doc grits his teeth, anger flaring in his eyes. “One of the council members has to be it. The sash is proof.” He storms out the door, grabbing Ren by the leg and pulling him free. “If it’s not Sidero, it’s the others. Come on, there’s five other guildmasters to raid.” 

Ren gets better at his magic, able to open a large enough portal for him to step through and open the door for the others. Though going into Eros’s office, the leader of Rose & Thorn, even Doc wishes he didn’t have to go. The team steps as lightly as possible, arms tight around their bodies and picking up something they hope is only a paperweight and not what they think it is. Etho, on the other hand, discovers a box of pictures. He hasn’t seen a camera in years, the magical artifact more common in the industrial and tech cities. But it seems Eros has found a different use for the rare machine, and finds pictures he wishes he could unsee. Maybe he could convince Zed to do what he did to that intern…

But nothing was discovered among the strange art of Rose & Thorn, nor the ornate and food filled office of Nature’s Bounty and it’s leader. Whether it was among the crumbs of Okui’s office or buried under the coins and scales that Gutiza and his guild, the Gadai, held, nothing pointed to who was the dark wizard. And with each office and no discovery, Doc’s anger grows. Seething and twisting in his chest. 

“Dammit, these guildmasters are all useless!” He knocks over a pile of coins from Gutiza’s desk, watching as the stolen currency clatters against the plush carpet. “They either sit on their laurels or abuse their power, but never actually do anything when the people need them! Would they even care if they found out one of their council is an evil wizard?” 

“We’ve only checked four. There’s still guildmasters Idelens and Apatia to check as well.” Zed whispers, reaching out with his hand and mind to calm Doc down. They can’t afford to be caught, to make rash decisions. Not now. 

They leave the doors, trying to replace everything they moved back to how they were found. No one can know they ever came here, no one can know they were sneaking into the leaders of Lairyon’s offices, searching through their things. Ren continues to the next door, tossing a portal and stepping through. And immediately stepping back out. “Yo, my dudes...looks like we have company.” 

All four peek through the portal, squinting in the dark office. The blinds drawn tight, it’s only the bioluminescence of the guildmaster that outlines Apatia’s body, kipling scales glimmering and one long strand of blue hair dancing with each snore. Doc’s mood sours all over again. “Isn’t he supposed to be judging the duels?” 

“Guess he needed to catch up on his beauty sleep.” Etho chuckles, hopping through the portal. His footsteps are silent, not even the sound of his shoes against the carpet heard. Etho picks up a paper, the document half finished and three weeks past due. It seems like with every council member they meet, he wonders how anything gets done. It has to be through sheer force from Idelens and Sidero, or at least the hard work of Magistrate Dolios. He’s all that keeps this place together. 

Etho returns, shaking his head and running his finger against the portal. Without ever waking Apatia, he rooted through his entire office in silence. The lazy fuck couldn’t be the dark wizard- he can hardly be a normal wizard with how little he gets done, much less care about anything going on in Lairyon. 

Which only leaves one last guildmaster. Idelens, the leader of Midas’ Medallions, It all makes sense for Doc. Of course Idelens, head proctor of the S-Class trials, would be the dark wizard. He can remember when he took his trial, her voice booming across the icy peaks of the mountains. Like she wanted to hear her own voice dominate the sky and overpower even the wind. He doesn’t even bother to wait for Ren and his magic, slamming the door open. 

Zed winces, but says nothing. All four slip into the dark room, gazing around with wide eyes. This has to be their dark wizard, the person who attacked them that night on Eremita. Who Stress stole the sash from, who destroyed Gildara and nearly killed off the Asklepions. Zed stays near the door, keeping watch while his peers dig through Idelens’s office. 

“She seems to be the only one who gets work done. But damn, that’s the biggest signature I’ve ever seen.” Etho shakes his head, flipping through the neat stacks of papers. Spending bills, guild contracts, everything is here. Everything except proof that she’s the dark wizard. 

“Oh, what about this?” Ren giggles, his tail wagging and rear in the air as he discovers a hidden compartment in her desk. He pulls free the journal, elegant cursive writing scrawled along the leather bound journal. “Does Guildmaster Idelens keep a diary?” 

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.” Etho snaps, letting Doc take the journal. He runs his hand over the leather, feeling for a protection enchantment of sorts. Some way to keep prying eyes from the ledger. There’s nothing. Is she so arrogant that she doesn’t protect her own office? Even Apatia had protection spells that Ren had to break to get in. Doc snaps the book open, eyes running across the pages hungrily. 

“Oh my gods…” He breathes, turning page after page. 

“What is it? She’s the dark mage, isn’t she?” Ren peeks over his shoulder, but Doc turns the page on him. “Come on, Doc! Don’t leave us hanging, bro.” 

“It’s not Idelens. She has notes on every single council member, she’s written about everything she’s done for them. Including how she’s helped Magistrate Dolios.” Doc sets the book down and steps back. 

“Helped him?” Etho and Ren butt heads in their attempt to look at the entry. “‘Dolios requested I move his newest crystal creation to a small town south of Foresta. He warned me to be more discrete- as if! He’s asked only the best guildmaster, of course I will do better than that idiot Okui’.” 

“Gildara.” Zed whispers from the door, stepping into the room. “It’s not the guildmasters. It’s the magistrate.” 

Doc slams his hands against Idelens’s chair, his metal hand splintering the ornate wood of the armrest. “Of course! Why didn’t I see it before? Why else would he throw us out after helping him? Who else would be able to hide all this?” 

Zedaph shakes his head, disbelief filling his eyes. “But...he’s such a good leader, everyone loves him.” A memory flashes across Zedaph’s mind. The cape in Dolios’s office. “Let’s go to his office. Surely we’ll find something there.”

The group sneaks across the capitol building, scrabbling across the empty halls and hiding from the lone guards. In the distance, they can hear the roar of the crowd, the booming noise of the coliseum. Ren tilts his head. “I wonder if we’re winning.” 

Among the halls of the other wing, the hermits know exactly where the magistrate’s office is. They remember being guided there by Dolios himself. They remember being escorted out by the guards. At the closed, locked, and enchanted door, Ren wastes no time removing the enchantments that protect the leader of Lairyon’s office. As soon as they’re in, they get to work. It’s unnerving, digging through the papers tucked under beast skulls and wrapped in expensive gold rope. The exact same material that the sash was made from. 

But among the menagerie of trinkets, tributes, and taxidermy, the heist team finds nothing that hints to what Idelens spoke of. Could she have been lying? Zedaph can hardly focus, not with his own guild’s cape fluttering on the wall. Why would Dolios have that, if he was the dark mage? Zed closes his eyes, trying to remember that horrible night. But he’s repressed that memory, only remembering his escape with Tango and Impulse. His teeth grit against each other, and his fingers brush against the burnt fabric. 

“We have to go. Now.” Cub’s voice alarms the whole team, all four springing into action as the portal wizard appears before them. “Sidero and a lot of Gedeons are coming this way. They’re very angry- Mumbo knocked out the last of their duelists.” 

“Not yet! We’re so close, I can taste it.” Doc picks up a white and blue feather, the barbs stained with blood, as if the answer to his search will be right under it. “It’s magistrate Dolios, of course it is. But we need proof, solid proof.” 

Zedaph isn’t listening to the others, listening to their bickering and worries. It’s all drowned out as he stares at the crest of the cape. The guild he was in before the hermits, destroyed entirely. The ZIT trio were the only survivors of the massacre years ago. His fingers reach out, twisting into the aged material. Memories flood into Zedaph’s mind, and his body pulls on the cape. Pulls it down, holding the fabric to his chest. 

Revealing a stone button. Stuck out of the ornate walls, haphazardly stuffed between two open mouthed nagas. Etho hops over Dolios’s desk, running up beside Zed. “You’re a genius dude! Look what you found, a secret.” 

Etho presses the button. Immediately, invisible creases open up, revealing a stone antichamber. Cold blue lights echo off the rough cut walls, daring the hermits to enter in. Doc takes up the challenge, marching inside. Etho and Cub follow next, with Zed and Ren just behind. The short passage opens up to a dark room. Shelves loom in the shadows, jars full of various different materials. Ren sneaks closer, before reeling back. He covers his nose and nearly retches. “My dudes...that’s heartstrings in there. Disgusting.” 

Doc takes a closer look, daring to pick up the jar to read the scrawled handwriting- the exact same handwriting as the letter they received. “Dragonheart strings.” He peers closer to the larger jar next to it. “And kipling fins, naga tongues, bacca claws. What the hell kind of spell requires this?” 

“Dark magic.” Etho whispers, pointing to the center of the room. A massive crystal sits in the center, resting on the uncut stone. Empty of color, absorbing all light and releasing none of it. Ren notices a ledger on the desk nearby, and runs his fingers through the notes. “‘Energy sap- performed by crystal, husk, or mage. Makes husks- does not transfer magical power’.” 

“Magistrate Dolios killed Gildara, laid siege to Danes. Attacked us with those husks.” Doc breathes, staring at everything around him. “The leader of Lairyon, the man supposed to protect this kingdom and its people, is the one killing us all. Using dark magic for...for what?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s just using it in other towns.” Cub points to the next page, finger shaking as he stares at the notes. The heist team peers at the paper, the schematics for the coliseum. And the crystal resting in the sewers below the stone building. Draining the energy from the competitors, the same way it drained life from Gildara, from Iris. 

“This is why we’re always tired after a competition. He’s stealing our lifeforce, our magic.” Ren shakes his head, remembering how he could hardly walk today. How Tango was bedridden for hours. All at once, the team realizes what is happening now. They need to get to the other hermits.

Now.


	23. Dueling a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the heist team discovers the identity of the dark mage, Mumbo is facing his greatest challenge yet. Fighting a dragon before all of the kingdom. Will he claim victory, or be burnt alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget this AU is by Red, the designs are all the product of his incredible art and imagination, this scene is from her genius brain. So check him out at [theguardiansofredland](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) !

“I don’t know how you’ve done it Mumbo, but I believe you can take it all the way!” Joe’s voice is toned in such a way that Mumbo can’t tell if he’s being sincere or teasing him. He’s going to go with the former, only because he’s not sure he could take the latter. 

“Ah, thanks Joe. It’s been a real doozy.” He wipes the sweat from his brow, trying to regain some energy back in his body as he stares across the field. Staring down his opponent. The one person Iskall said he wouldn’t have to worry about. Avon, the other finalist in the duel tournament. “I’m not quite sure if I can take her on, of all people, though. I mean...she took out Grian!” 

“Just barely, and only because of that trident she’s got.” Grian huffs, tucking his arms against his chest. “No matter what happens, Mumbo Jumbolio, we’ve secured our place in the labyrinth event. One way or another, we’re one of the two best guilds in the Chimaera’s championship. In all of Lairyon!” 

Mumbo nods his head, gathering his nerves and shoving them into a little box. He beat the best duelist from the Guild of Gedeon, he can beat one lone wanderer. The points the hermits have gathered throughout the games have held them at a steady first place. But he wants to win this event for them all. To prove to himself that he does have control over his magic. To prove to his father he doesn’t need him- he has a better family. And because he has a taste for competition. A taste that can only be satiated with winning.

It’s just Mumbo and Avon. The winner takes the glory, a champion of the most popular event in all of Lairyon. Mumbo glances at the stands, the coliseum packed to the brim. Scrying spells are everywhere, and even a few cameras from the industrial cities. Everyone is watching him. It’s terrifying, but also thrilling. This is his time, in front of all of Lairyon. As long as he keeps control of his magic, and doesn’t pass out from his swimming head, he can win the most popular event in all of the Chimaera’s Championship. 

“Go get ‘em, dude. Show them how much of a mega wizard of doom you are.” Iskall grins, patting Mumbo on the back and sending him into the torchlight that illuminates the field. Massive orbs of light, blinding to look at and controlled by a single light mage, chase off shadows from the field and illuminate the two competitors. Avon struts across, until the two are toe to toe at the center. Mumbo realizes the dragonheart is almost a full head shorter than him, though her wings rise above the lion’s mane for hair. The daring gaze she gives makes him feel like the shorter one, however. Like the ground is sinking at his feet. 

“Duelists!” Their eye contact severs at the voice of Magistrate Dolios serenades the crowd into silence. Out of the corner of Mumbo’s eyes, he swears he can see sharp teeth appear from a curling scowl on Avon’s face. Dolios stands from his seat, sweeping his hands to both Avon and Mumbo. ‘I congratulate you both on your strength and magic to make it this far. You are both the pride of what Lairyon has to offer, and even I am astounded at the show of power I’ve seen from all competitors in these games. This will be a championship for the history books, and I can’t thank you two and your groups enough for braving to come here as non-guild teams.

“Unfortunately, only one person can be crowned victor of the duels. As much as I would love to see you both take home the medal. However, Avon- you know that no matter what, your team won’t make it into the Labyrinth run?” Mumbo looks over, just barely catching the tiny nod. More a bounce of her hair than a move of her head. “And you still wish to compete, despite being in third place no matter the outcome of this event?” Another short nod, and Dolios smiles. “A brave soul, I was hoping for some more fight left. Let the final duel begin...now!” 

Mumbo scrabbles backwards, avoiding the sharp prongs of Avon’s trident by a narrow width of air. He trips over his own two feet in the retreat, rolling over the grass and landing with his gaze glued on the crown box. Magistrate Dolios has seated himself again, watching with a glint in his eyes. Completely relaxed, unlike the crowd all around him. Even his fellow councilmembers are bellowing, though two are missing. He yelps, a ball of flame singing the verdant grass beside him. In his own mind, he can’t help but note how much it looks like the blight he saw in Gildara. 

Up on his feet, Mumbo takes a deep breath and faces his opponent. Avon, the very person Iskall said he wouldn’t have to worry about. Of course, his luck leads him to fight a draconic mage. She looks different- her wings have disappeared. Mumbo raises an eyebrow. Didn’t she always have- 

A poison barb rips against the black fabric of his robes. If he was a centimeter to the left, it would’ve dug into his leg. He doesn’t have the privilege to think- not against an opponent like this. But that’s what Mumbo does best! He leers to the side, casting his circle. His head swims, and the spell dissolves away. 

“Not now!” Mumbo whimpers, fleeing the barrage of attacks from his opponent. Can’t she give him one minute? One minute to concentrate, to focus on his magic? He’s doomed, he can’t do this. His magic is too unpredictable, like catching smoke in his hands. One minute it’s there, the next it’s gone. He tries to focus, to follow the guidance Grian taught him when they’d train. But his best friend’s advice is doing nothing to aid him. What he wouldn’t give to have Grian and the other hermits at his side right now. 

“You can do it Mumbo!” He leaps away from another throw of the trident, backed into a corner, but looks up at the sound of Grian’s voice. Cheering him from the sidelines, waving and whooping with wings spread wide. Iskall is at his side, getting rowdy as his voice carries with Grian. Every last hermit is there, cheering for him. Even Doc, Etho, and the rest of the heist team. What did they find? Zedaph, Tango, and Impulse are waving something he can’t catch, the shepherd mage on both Tango and Impulse’s shoulder. Right now, they aren’t focused on the heist, or who the dark wizard is. The entire guild of hermits is cheering him on. Him, some screwup multi-mage who can’t control his powers. Not like how Magistrate Dolios can control his multitude of magics. 

“Go Mumbo! Just cast the spell, don’t think! Just cast!” Xisuma shouts, his mask doing little to stop his encouraging voice from carrying to Mumbo. The draconic mage makes her steady approach, flourishing her trident. Mumbo closes his eyes, and does the one thing he’s never done before. 

Not think. When Mumbo opens his eyes, he can feel power rushing down his arms, lightning crackling against his sleeves and a burnmark where Avon once stood. She’s retreated, eyes wide but a smile cracking through the empty expression. “Finally, a challenge.” 

Mumbo steps forward, summoning another magic circle. At first, the circuits and lotuses wobble in the air, his magic unsure. But Mumbo can hear his friends calling his name. The crowd cheering for him. And the spell strengthens so bright he can hardly see past the arcane circle. He releases his magic, and unchains the beast within. He knew his magic was powerful. It was hard to summon for that reason, like trying to call on a storm. But once the storm appeared, on it’s own or by will, there was little he could do to stop it. 

Redstone slithers across the ground, wrapping around Avon’s ankles like vines. Hungry for warmth, for life. Dragging her down against the ground, Mumbo’s magic traps his opponent. In the light of the coliseum, black scales appear on Avon’s open skin, steeling herself to the attack. The redstone constricts, and Mumbo prepares to send a bolt of lightning down the redstone circuit. But Avon’s lips open, and fire escapes from her mouth and nostrils, like a firebreathing dragon. It burns away the redstone circuits, freeing the dragonheart. 

It becomes a battle, back and forth between the two. A poison barb traded for lightning, fire traded for redstone. Mumbo fends off attacks from the sky, from the ground. They both share a similar form of magic- lightning. Avon releases a bolt, only for her purple lightning to be met by Mumbo’s red bolt. The two wrestle for strength, but Mumbo wins out. The energy strikes Avon, throwing her across the field. Unfortunately for Mumbo, nothing can seem to keep his opponent down for long. No matter how hard he strikes, how fast he strikes, Avon doesn’t remain on the ground. She just stands up, brushing away the blood and mud, and retaliates. 

Exhaustion grows in Mumbo’s body, threatening to keep him down when a fireball burns the fraying fabric of a torn sleeve. He can hear the hermits, the crowd cheering for him. He’s not going down, he’s not losing. He wants to win. Avon rushes forward, her trident reeled backward. Mumbo’s just barely able to stop her, twisting redstone around and pulling it taut. They’re trapped in a stalemate, feeling each other huffing for air. Mumbo can see blood dripping from a wound on her forehead, her cheek. A swollen eye and torn lip, the black scaled pauldron dented from battle and her clothes torn and bloody. Purple fabric of her cloak brushes against Mumbo’s leg, causing a poisoned wound to sting.   
He’s not in much better shape, but he refuses to go down. “You’re really not going to let up, are you?” 

“Nope.” She offers a smile, then rips her trident away. Mumbo stumbles backwards, catching his weight and nearly crumbling on a wounded ankle. Avon is struggling to her feet too, wings reappearing and scales disappearing to gain dexterity back. Now’s the time, if ever he had a chance. Her wings seem to be the biggest targets. If he takes those out, maybe she’ll stay down. 

Mumbo raises his hand to start drawing his circle, and flicks his wrist in an attempt to get rid of mud that clings to the blood on his fingers. Just like that, his circle activates. Holy shit, did he actually summon his magic without having to go through the motions of drawing it? He’s never done that before, but he’s not going to waste the chance he has now. Mumbo strikes the center of his circle, and a storm of lightning and redstone rains down on Avon. Lightning strikes her down, throwing her back against the ground. The redstone clings to the dragonheart, capturing the electricity and sending the currents running back through his opponent. 

She stays down. The entire coliseum goes quiet as the dead, watching Avon struggle to get to her feet. Magistrate Dolios and the Council stand, opening their mouths. They’re about to call the match. Bruised, bloody, and broken, there’s no way Avon can get back from a spell that powerful. Mumbo must’ve won. 

A single syllable escapes Dolios’s lips when Avon rises to her knees. Steeling herself to the pain, gritting her teeth against the lightning still ricocheting down her form. Rising to her feet, leaning against her trident for stability. Her eyes remain closed, wincing against the pain. Dolios calls down. “Do you surrender, wanderer?” 

Her eyes snap open. Gone are the purple irises, calm and collected. All Mumbo can see is rage in elongated pupils, thin and sharp as a snake’s. Scales ripple across her skin, wings growing larger and spines appearing from the crown of blonde. When she opens her mouth, a snarl escapes through sharp, daggerlike teeth. “A dragon never yields.”   
Suddenly, Mumbo isn’t facing a draconic mage. The wanderer before him transforms, growing in size as more ebony scales appear across skin and fabric. Mumbo stumbles backwards, wincing and bracing against the pain as his rear bruises on the dirt below him. When he opens his eyes, he only sees scales and teeth. 

A dragon is before him, purple eyes set between purple horns, islands of color against black armor. The only way Mumbo knows for sure that’s Avon is the tufts of blonde hair at the crown of the dragon. He’s awoken the dragon’s wrath. 

Mumbo yelps, leaping away before purple fire engulfs him. He runs as far from the dragon as possible, about to cry despite the crowd in a cacophony around him. But no matter how far he runs, the dragon form of Avon is right behind him. Just a flutter to reach his sprint. Above the stadium, dark grey clouds swirl and lightning traps Mumbo from retreating. 

The next thing Mumbo knows, he’s on his back. Trapped between two sharp purple claws, the pressure of the dragon’s foot weighing down on his chest. Mumbo struggles, attempting to wriggle free to no avail. He’s trapped beneath Avon’s claws, trapped between the massive talons that could easily rip out his throat. The muzzle of the beast lowers down, purple flames rolling free from bone white fangs. Mumbo cranes his neck backwards, trying to avoid the impending doom. He closes his eyes, and calls out to everyone and anyone. “I surrender!” 

For a second, Mumbo fears Avon couldn’t understand him in that form, that nothing he could say would stop the dragon from burning him to a crisp. But after a second, the weight relieves from his chest, the heat of the fire ebbing away. 

“The victor of the duel goes to the wanderers.” Dolios calls, ending the duel event. “Do not fret, Mr. Jumbo, your team still has first place- I cannot wait to see your team in the labyrinth tomorrow.” 

Mumbo offers a weak smile, attempting to stand up but falling to his knees. He can’t tell if he’s just in shock from nearly being eaten by a dragon, exhausted from fighting for his life, or too wounded to stay standing. 

He’s not the only one beyond exhaustion. Avon steps back, her form shifting back to the sturdy human he knew when they first met. Her eyes roll back into her head, wings stretching out to try and catch her fall as Avon collapses to the ground. Passed out, the other two wanderers run to her side. Red calls for her to wake up, Ecto scooping the dragonheart into her arms and brushing away blood from her face. 

Mumbo leaps out of his skin, someone’s hand against his shoulder. It’s TFC. “Well done Mumbo, you really fought to the end. No matter, we’re going into the labyrinth challenge tomorrow!” 

“And we know who the dark mage is.” Doc whispers. Mumbo follows his gaze, past the wanderers, up the wall of the coliseum. Coming to rest on Magistrate Dolios, leaned back in his seat with one cheek resting against his hand. A charismatic smile rests beneath calm, friendly eyes. Eyes that stare at Mumbo and the hermits just a little too fiercely. “Come on, man, we need to get outta here. This coliseum is a trap.”


	24. The Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end, so close to winning the entire championship. Only one more challenge, one more maze- and one more corrupted beast to prove themselves as the best in the entire kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget this AU is by Red, the designs are all the product of his incredible art and imagination! So check him out at [ theguardiansofredland](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

“Are you sure Magistrate Dolios is the dark wizard?” Keralis questions, tilting his head. “I mean, what he did was pretty mean, but...to practice dark magic?” 

“It’s him.” Zedaph hisses, his fingers curling in the fabric set on his lap. “He had a crystal in the antichamber, he had a horrible collection of parts used for spells.” Zed clenches his fists and jaw, struggling not to burst out. Tango and Impulse try to ease their friend’s worries. “He… I read through his log. He killed our guild. We were just the first, the opening act. He used our friends, our family, to start his path of destruction.” 

“But why? Why would he need dark magic? He’s the godsdamned Magistrate of Lairyon!” False looks around, leaning forward in the tavern they’re huddled in. It’s not the inn, but one closer to the stadium. They have a labyrinth to defeat soon. 

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Doc growls, tapping his fingers together into a triangle shape. “Regular magic just wasn’t enough. Regular power just wasn’t enough.”

“So he’s using the crystals to gather energy. Like what we saw in Gildara, with the grey landscape. And when the crystals sap energy for him to steal, it leaves those husk monsters behind.” Cub is slowly piecing together the puzzle, coming to understand everything he saw with the others in the heist. 

“And he’s using the Chimaera’s championship to sap more energy. That’s why we feel so tired when we finish an event. He’s stealing our power, my dudes.” Ren shivers at the thought. His energy being drained, taken by some creepy crystal and fueling Dolios’s insatiable thirst. 

“And we’re going back in soon.” TFC hums. “We have the labyrinth challenge.” 

“We don’t have to go in- we got what we needed. We can leave, make a plan with this knowledge we have. Tell the king, tell the people. They’ll take care of it.” Etho leans back in a chair, tipping till it nearly dumps him backwards. 

“But we’ve come so far!” Grian whines. “We could win the whole games, prove to Dolios that he never should have messed with us! Wouldn’t you love to see that smug smile of his wiped off when we win?” 

Agreements rise around Grian, and even Etho can’t help but want to prove that bastard wrong. Xisuma steps in. “At least we know why we’re getting so exhausted. We’ll know to rest, calm down while we’re in the labyrinth. And...we can warn Team Crafted.” 

“And then we’ll tell the king, tell the people. They’ll have to listen to us, we’ll be the champions!” Iskall grins. They’ve got this labyrinth challenge in the bag. 

The group rises, walking out of the tavern and back to the stadium. All around them, Milliara is buzzing with excitement. The final challenge of the Chimaera’s championship, the end of the games, has come. A river of people flow along the raised streets, flowing like the canals beside them. Rushing towards the stadium. They pass by other guilds, who sneer and turn away. Angry they lost, especially to a team. Do any of them know that the Magistrate practices dark magic? That he’s killed entire guilds in his search for power? For what? Surely he doesn’t keep all of it. 

It’s no matter to the hermits. They found the truth, and once they pass on this knowledge, it’ll be out of their hands. Entering into the bowels of the stadium, the locker room they sit in is empty. Once full of dozens more teams, now only two teams remain.

The entire guild sneers at the sound of Dolios’s voice welcoming the crowd. It’s muffled by the thick stone walls, but they can hear him tell of the harrowing journey ahead. And the grand prize that awaits for the team that defeats the labyrinth. All they need to do is pour a single bowl of water over the statue at the center of the labyrinth. 

But between that and both teams were beasts, traps, and spells designed to slow them down. Perhaps even kill them, if they aren’t prepared. Across the way, Grian can see nerves crease across Quentin and Jerome’s faces. He can hear Mumbo muttering next to him. Anyone can walk into the labyrinth, but only the best teams can walk out. Grian isn’t going to let anyone die- not on his oath as a healer. Not from the hermits, and not from Team Crafted either. 

Grian stands, walking across the locker room and coming face to face with Sky. The leader looks up, an easy and golden grin meeting Grian. “Hey, you here to wish us luck?”

“Not exactly.” Grian wrings his hands, looking over his shoulder, before dropping his voice. “Listen, Sky, we hermits discovered something… the reason we’re always exhausted?” Sky leans forward, his eyes looking out over the rim of his sunglasses. “The magistrate is doing something dark, and he’s taking our power for his own. If you see a crystal that’s pitch black, or a creature with soulless white eyes and ash grey bodies- run. It’s dark magic.” 

Sky’s eyes widen, and behind him Grian sees Jerome and Mitch coil and look out at where Dolios’s voice can be heard. But Jason looks less convinced. “Why should we trust you? You’re trying to get us to fail, huh?” 

Grian’s sighs, collapsing his head into his hands. “No, we’re trying to help you. Us illegal guilds have to stick together.” 

Team Crafted’s faces all exhibit a mix of shock, surprise, and hints of defiance at Grian’s suggestion. But he’s smarter than he lets on. Jerome is the first to speak up. “Thank you for the warning, I knew that man wasn’t to be trusted. Good luck, hermits.” 

With that, the stadium erupts in a roar. Team Crafted stands, and disappears into the field, disappears from view. A few moments later, the hermits are called into the spotlight. Just like the opening ceremony, TFC leads them out onto the pitch. 

Or, what was the pitch. Massive hedges of writhing vines and ivy twist around the guild, engulfing them into a thicket that fills the once open arena. A dark, misty haze swirls, thickening where the hermits know the crowd is watching. Despite no eyes, no bodies visible, they can feel being observed. And yet the entire field is eerily quiet. They feel alone, no voices or light, only the sensation of sight. 

In the distance, a grumbling roar pierces the mist. Captured by the damp air, it hangs and echoes around the hermits. Iskall hides behind Stress while False, Wels, and Etho draw their blades. But TFC is the one to break the silence. “No use standing here. Team Crafted already has a headstart, and I’m not letting them get any further. Cleo and Jevin, take point. If anything looks suspicious, or even if it doesn’t, Cleo can search for a soul. Jevin, can you whip up slime warriors to be our...ahem, bait?”

“You got it boss.” Jevin draws his circle, blue light dappling the misty grey and green. Blue bodies of slime morph to shape, awkward steps pushing the hermits forward. Deep into the maze. The mist engulfs the comforting stone wall of the stadium, and they were only among hedge and haze. 

They push past traps set off by the slime warriors, around chimaeras and banshees soothed by Zedaph and Cleo, and over illusionary spells meant to turn them back. At each intersection, Scar marks off the way they came by plowing a giant X in the ground. When they reach a dead end and turn around, he blocks it off completely. 

“I don’t remember the field being this big.” Impulse groans, feeling his body ache at the feeling he now knows to be the work of dark magic. They haven’t seen a crystal or a husk, which only makes the feeling worse. It’s coming from everywhere. 

“They must’ve used expansion magic to make this place bigger.” Xisuma hums, kicking his boot at the feeling of something on his head. And again. He turns around, glaring at BDubs. “Would you quit trying to flat-tire me? It doesn’t work on boot, ya know.” 

BDubs’s face causes X’s head to spin and his heart to drop. His eyes are wide, confused as to why X is yelling at him. “Tha-that wasn’t me, X. That was-” 

One moment, BDubs is clear in Xisuma’s vision through his mask. The next, he’s disappeared. However, it’s not hard to find him with all the screaming. Writhing on the ground, mist and vines wrapping struggling in a fight with the plant mage. No matter how many times he casts his magic, it doesn’t shake off the ivy that crawls and drags him towards the hedges. 

“Help! Help it’s got me!” BDubs screams, digging his fingers into the ground and rooting himself there He groans, the vines still pulling on him despite being an immovable object. “It’s gonna rip me in half!” 

False swings her sword, the sharp steel biting into the vines and severing it from the briars snaked around BDubs. From the split branches, a red ochre spills out. Blood. The entire hedge rumbles to life, two eyes appearing in the mist. A branch breaks through the fog, colliding with a shield held aloft by Wels. The limb of the plant monster crushes the steel, tossing the shield aside and depositing the paladin onto his rear. 

Glowing white eyes draw closer, and the twisted grey vines of the plant monster’s face appears in the dark mist. Vines grab for any limb the hermits aren’t watching, engulfing arms, pulling on tails, wrapping around heads. Xisuma traps a few of the thousand limbs in a blackhole, rolling away from the beast. Grian takes to the sky, dodging around the shoots that threaten to skewer him. He whips a blast of air, clearing the fog to get a better view below.

It’s not the whole labyrinth, but the beast has spread it’s vines in an intricate system among it. All which are slithering over the ivy, like snakes in search of the hermits. What he also sees in the sky, beneath the plant monster’s perch and dug into the ground beneath the pitch, was the one thing he’s learned to despise. 

A dark crystal. It’s controlling the plant monster, black smog wrapping around the roots of the beast like chains. It’s practically bursting with energy, all the power and strength taken by the crystal during the entire course of the games. Even flying this high, he can feel the effects of his magic being siphoned from his body. “There’s one of those-” 

Swatted from the sky like a bug, Grian crashes into the ground with a sickening thud. Scar and Mumbo race to help him up. Mumbo nearly throws up, hearing the sound of bones cracking under Grian’s feathers and skin. But nothing can keep the sky angel quiet. “The plant thing...it’s protecting the crystal, or powered by the crystal, I dunno.”

“Where is it?” TFC questions, eyes flicking across the battling guild. Stress freezes the blood and vines solid, while Cub severs the limbs with portal after portal opening and closing. 

Grian grabs his head, trying to steady the spinning sensation. The moving hedges of the false maze, the limbs of the beast, don’t help to ease his confusion. He points a shaking finger at about 2 o’clock, relieved to have support from Mumbo and Iskall back to his feet. 

“Should we run away from it? Obviously it’s going to try and take our energy- shouldn’t we stay as far away as possible?” Joe raises an eyebrow. His quill rushes across the pages beneath the tip, a rushed spell spouting forth. A million beetles emerge from the aged paper, tiny pincers digging into the plant monster and ripping it apart. Keralis plucks one from the sky, swallowing the beetle whole and feeling reinvigorated by the bug.

“If Dolios placed that there, he obviously intended for us to get close to it. If he knew we’d be going that way, that means the statue must be this direction.” Xisuma proposes, sending a ball of void into the chest of the many limbed vine creature. 

“We should...we should destroy the crystal.” Grian hisses, grasping at his ribs and gasping for air. “So he can’t steal any more magic from here.” 

“How?” Doc growls, despite plowing ahead. Towards the monster. Towards the crystal. “We could hardly put a dent in it last time!”

“We’ll figure it out. We’re pretty clever.” TFC hums, hopping over a whipping vine. He grasps a thin rod of corundum, steeling himself when another attempts to toss him into oblivion. The hermits battle their way through the shifting maze, but with each vine they cut down, more seem to spring from the bloody limbs and misty air. The attacks only grow more aggressive as they near the body of the beast, near the dark crystal controlling it. The air grows thick, hard to breathe and pressing down on the team. In the distance, they can hear the roar of a chimaera. Team Crafted. Hopefully they’re safe, as far away from this beast as possible. 

The crystal comes into view. Ashen roots are planted firm around the massive crystalline structure, the gem pulsing with energy. Energy it’s stealing from the hermits and Team Crafted. Right on cue, black mist swirls around the opaque crystal, natural defenses going up. The hermits leap aside, avoiding the crushing blow from a twisted cable of vines by a narrow margin of time and air. From across the writhing greenery, TFC’s voice booms out commands. “You guys on the other side distract the monster- or better yet, try to kill it! Us over here will do our best to break the crystal.” 

A cacophony of acknowledgements lets the guildmaster know they heard him, and he wastes no time scrabbling to his feet. He ignores the sound of fighting behind him, the cracks and groans of the beast or the screams of his guildmembers. He needs to focus on this crystal first and foremost. 

TFC is a mineral mage. He knows gemstones- but not corrupted gems. His stomach clenches as his fingers brush against the smooth surface, and his head aches at the mere thought of how it controlled him before. He still feels horrible, snapping at his friends. It’s too dangerous to use, even in regular magic. This twisted, barbaric magical conduit needs to be destroyed. 

But if there’s one thing he knows, all gems can only take so much energy before they cleave. And this crystal is practically brimming with stolen magic. “Let’s feed the beast then.” 

“Have a snack, you mega crystal of doom!” Iskall shouts, bolts of radioactive energy crackling from his magic circle to the crystal. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow his attack until he can hardly stand. The gemstone remains standing, half buried in the dirt. But then False steps up, the multitude of cinquedeas summoned around her imbued with magic by Wels. A flick of the wrist, and the blades dig into the crystal. Rusted, but protruding from the gem like spines from a dragon. 

“Yes! Focus the strikes on False’s swords! Use them like conduits!” TFC grins, leaping free as a rooted foot rips from the ground beside him. For a brief moment, he turns his attention back to the fighting hermits. He clasps his hands over his ears, the telltale shriek of Cleo’s banshee scream almost rupturing his eardrums. Impulse is on his back, protected by a weak bolt of lightning shot from Mumbo’s stuttering magic. But otherwise, they’re holding their own just fine. 

“We’ve almost got it!” Wels cheers, noticing the cracks forming along the gem’s surface. Black smoke pours from the fractures, grasping at their feet and attempting to steal their magic. Attempting to keep control of the plant monster that protects it. 

The ground beneath their feet rolls and rumbles, the dirt and hedges shivering and bucking against the hermits’ feet. Wels turns around, grinning when he sees what- or who- is the cause of the earthquake. Like a geyser of stone, a spike of rock pierces through the heart of the dark crystal. The mist around the hermits’ dissipates like morning fog chased off by the sun. Above the team, the plant monster erupts into ash, raining flakes of the husked creature with one final creak of wood and vine. 

And the dark crystal shatters. It blows the hermits back, sending them tumbling among the shards of gemstone. The black aura fades with the color- it’s just a regular quartz crystal, albeit destroyed into a million tiny conchoidal pieces. The depressing weight on their bodies, that left them struggling to breathe and their magic weak, falls away like shed skin of a snake. None of them have felt this invigorated since the start of the games. 

“Guys, there’s the statue!” Grian prods Mumbo in the back, both wincing as pain ricochets through both wounded hermits. A lush garden at the center of the labyrinth, gardenia and lilac flowers growing around a tall statue rising from a fresh, crystal clear spring. Carved in stone from the Lionheart mountains, the statue features each and every god in the main pantheon of Lairyon. From Echol to Limal, and Artyne- god of water.

Water, the symbol of life and magic in Lairyon. Water flows fresh, clean, and pure from the spring surrounding the stone gods. Two bowls rest untouched at the spring’s edge, carved from the very cyprus trees that inspired Milliara to be founded. Ren steps up, pausing and looking back at his teammates. Bruised, battered, broken. But urging him not to waste another second. This is it. 

Ren dips the bowl in the spring. He swears he can feel energy, deep ancient magic within the cool water, chasing away the aftereffects of the crystal. In the distance, he can hear shouts of encouragement from vaguely familiar voices. Team Crafted is almost here. He doesn’t waste a second, wading across the water and pouring the bowl over the stone statue. 

The mist disappears, and the statues move, as if brought to life by the mystical spring. Merkal, the god of mischief, moves his cloak to the side. Deliss brushes away the lilacs and gardenia. And the stone rendition of Artyne smiles, revealing the chalice. Crowning the hermits as victors of the Chimaera’s Championship.


	25. Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only have the hermits found out who the dark wizard is, but they’ve just won the Chimaera’s Championship. Things are finally going the right way for the hermits. 
> 
> But the celebration doesn’t last long. One more challenge lays ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is the creation of my fabulous, incredible, inspiring coauthor and best friend Red! if you want to see more of this au, the character designs, art of scenes, and more check him out at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

Victors, heroes, enemies. Champions. In one single moment, the hermits were all that and more. From being an illegal guild of nobodies to a team of wizards that just won the Chimaera’s championship- it’s hard to believe. Standing before the stadium, finally able to see and be enveloped in the warm lights, the entire crowd cheering for team STAR. Not the hermits, that’s not who they are here. They’re still an illegal guild. But here? They’re just a team of random wizards. A team of random wizards that just won the Chimaera’s championship. 

The only way their mood could be soured was by having to hear that bastard Dolios’s voice. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what they hear echoing all around them. Congratulating them, capitulating his pride and joy to see new faces take home the Cup, the gold, and the glory. From behind, TFC can hear Zedaph growling under his breath. “Why can’t someone shut him up?” 

“This is outrageous!” Exactly on cue, Dolios is cut off by the voice of his own Council. Idelens stands, brushing out the golden tassel of her robes so that they’re perfectly placed. She is a beacon of perfection- even the angry creases in her face are situated just so to exemplify her emotions. “Magistrate Dolios, your wise leadership has gone too far! An illegitimate group of street rats, winning the Chimaera’s Championship? They are not even a guild!”

All around Idelens, the other councilmembers voice their own displeasure- except for Apatia, who seems to be too lazy to stand. “Magistrate Dolios, you have led our kingdom into an age of prosperity and strength unlike those ever seen before.” Gadai bows as he speaks to Dolios, earning a humble smile from the bearded leader. “But it was only through your laws to organize guilds and streamline all of Lairyon’s power that this age has been ushered! This...this horde of troublemakers is the exact opposite of the prideful guilds that have spent years training and preparing for this day! A team like this has no place among the Chimaera’s Championship, much less winning! The cup, the gold, the glory should go to a real guild like mine!’

“Do you realize how hard our guilds trained?” Sidero hisses, eyes boring through the hermits. “I’m gonna-”

The entire council goes silent the second Dolios raises a hand, his red sleeve falling in a cascade of gold trim and wine fabric. Glittering eyes close, his head shaking. Brown curls of hair, tied back in a well kept ponytail, dance across the blue capelet resting on the Magistrate’s shoulders. “This is not about gold, or glory, or guilds, my dear council friends. The Chimaera’s Championship is a show or unity, of joy, of creativity for Lairyon. It is something we all love, whether it is the common farmer or richest guildmaster. Virtues this team here proudly exemplifies, a team we should be proud to call victors.” Dolios turns his gaze, which sharpens as he lays eyes on the hermits. “Though they may not be a guild, but rather a conglomeration of independent wizards working together solely for this event, they are champions nonetheless.” 

Ren and Mumbo have to cover their ears at the raucous roar that erupts from the mass of spectators around them. Cheering for Team STAR, cheering for Magistrate Dolios. His warm and charismatic smile never falters while the hermits step up to take their prize. He remains standing from his chair, above King Sor’s empty throne and above the council’s throng. 

The crowd shuffles, going quiet as heads and bodies bow. Bowing to the hermits, the champions of the games. Days of grueling competitions designed to push them to the limit and test their attributes against the best of the best. Common folk winning a game that has been dominated by only the most elite guilds for the past decade. It was a sign of respect and reverence to the gods the games were dedicated to, even their fellow non-guild teams bowing. Though Ecto was snickering the whole time. Only one person refused to lower his head at the introduction of the winners. 

Magistrate Dolios. He remained firm, not even blinking as the chalice full of gold and gems is handed off the guild. He raises his chin slightly at the mention of the gods, of the dragon spirits, the noble guardians in the sea. Grian’s skin crawls, feeling Dolios’s gaze burn into him. The charismatic glimmer in the magistrate’s eyes turns frenzied, the smooth edges of his smile become hard and cold. But all of that is gone when the crowd rises. The only remaining proof that any of it happened is the unnerving sensation left in Grian’s body. 

Cub does the next most sensible thing, knowing his fellow hermits- he portals away all the riches and the chalice back to Eremita. And he feels great, none of his magic sapped away. He feels like he could teleport all the way to Kilton right now, his excitement and freedom bubbling inside him. 

The hermits scrabble back to their inn as quickly as possible. Funny enough, as soon as they're out on the streets, out among the crowd of spectators, no one seems to notice they’re walking besides Chimaera Champions. Is it that they don’t look like a team, or they don’t act like a winning guild would? Maybe it’s that, among the busy streets, no one’s going to notice one or two hermits traveling just a few paces behind the next bead of the string. The only stranger to congratulate them was the tavernkeeper, ordering rounds on the house of their best ale- whatever taste that would be. 

TFC feels a weight press around his body, cold metal against his back and his entire weight lifted off the ground. TFC isn’t a heavy man, but he’s got the bones of any good miner. However, Jason in his cyborg form could easily pick him up, hugging him with one arm while grinding a human fist into Zed’s hair. “Congratulations, hermits! You really gave us a run for our money. But don’t be expecting us to go easy on you next time, twerps!” 

He lets go of the two he’s captured, inviting the whole group to sit with him. Grian bounces into the seat beside the automaton man. “Where’s the rest of your team? Did you guys get out alright in the labyrinth?”

Jason waves off his worries. “We were crushing it until we got to this real nasty chimaera. Should’ve known they’d be there, it’s literally in the name! The rest of those idiots are upstairs packing.” 

“Invite them down!” Iskall laughs, grabbing hold of the tankard placed and taking a large swig. Curiously, the ale is actually quite good, the mead having a fruity flavor and even the froth light and almost marshmellowy. 

“Get the wanderers too, they should get in on this celebration!” Joe adds, prompting Mumbo to be the soul to find them all. 

“The wanderers left already.” Jason has already finished his first round, and is going in for another. 

“Were they that disappointed in losing?” Xisuma questions, pulling his chair to face backwards and crowd in the ever growing table. 

“No, they were quite happy when you guys won. But they left suddenly, following after some guy with long white hair in a ponytail.” X nearly chokes on his drink, but Jason continues. “As soon as they left, we did get this lovely letter from the Council.” 

“Oh, great. Official hate mail.” Cleo sneers. She’s the first to pick up the paper, reading over it’s contents. “Ugh, it’s nothing even interesting. Just reminding all three teams that we are to disband immediately. We aren’t legal guilds, in case any of you didn’t remember.” 

“How could we forget?” Doc sneers. 

“We should leave sooner rather than later.” TFC hums, picking up the paper and reading across the elegant handwriting. All seven council members signed it. “Just in case the arcane guard decides to remind us again.” 

Xisuma recovers from his near death experience with his beer, eyes watering but otherwise back to his normal calm personality. “I have to agree with our guildmaster. We should get out of Milliara as soon as possible. I don’t think I want to be near here when the magistrate discovers our...intrusion.” 

“What about telling the king?” Impulse tips his head to the side, nearly catching it on fire with how close team ZIT is sitting. All three are still holding onto the mark of their dead guild, despite the joy of winning. Some scars never fade. Across the table, Jason just drinks away his confusion. 

“We can easily send a message from the Ashioll sea to the king. At least on Eremita we’re safer, it’s harder to reach us, but we can still message the king. Phoebe’s a good bird.” Grian still feels unnerved about how Dolios stared at him. 

The team shares one more drink, this time with all of the members of Team Crafted, before waving them off. It’s their turn to pack. Days of clothes strewn across beds, floors, and furniture. Gathering supplies, from hair brushes to gemstones, even Tango’s hair gel to keep the flames for locks from burning his pillow. 

They know they’re ready to leave when Scar tumbles down the stairs, his medals clattering against one another like a bell. His monstrosity of packing left much to be desired, but the hermits always knew they had everyone when Scar arrived- he was always last. With everyone gathered, they can finally leave Milliara. 

Coming to the city, they only hoped to leave with information on who attacked them. They didn’t expect to win any of the events- the Championship was simply a guise. But now, walking through the canal lined streets on their way home, they would return as champions. People pointed towards them, smiling and even cheering at the sight of Team STAR. Would they cheer if they knew they were an illegal guild? 

Passing through the nobility district, unfortunately in between them and the western gate, a crowd has already gathered in a wide plaza. At the sight of the arcane guard, the Council’s personal military, the muscles in every hermit tightens. They were warned to disband- this must be the legion here to make sure they do so. 

The throngs of people part, revealing the one person no hermit wanted to see. “Ah, I’m so thankful I was able to catch our victors before you returned to the countryside.”   
Magistrate Dolios stood before a large, ornate fountain. Gilded statues of various species and wizards, water casting up and down steps and terraces in the crescent shaped cascade. The water captures the torchlight of the evening air, dancing across Dolios. Shadows cast across his body, illuminating him from behind and hiding most of his features. The only defined part of him is the golden, sun shaped clasp holding his cape, light bouncing off the lustrous material. Among the group, a short scuffle breaks out. Tango and Zedaph are barely able to hold Impulse back, to keep him from blowing the magistrate off the face of this kingdom. The whole plaza was watching. 

“Hello, Magistrate. For what do we owe the...honor?” TFC steps up, putting himself between the dark mage before him and the team behind him. That magnetic smile never wavers, Dolios’s eyes sweeping across the cityfolk around them. 

“I came to congratulate you all personally. And to invite you all to capitol hall for a feast in your honor. It’s not every day that a non-guild team wins the Chimaera’s Championship. You are exactly the reason why I opened the games to teams, and you proved me right in doing so.” Dolios waves his hand. “Please, join me for a feast, champions.” 

The magistrate’s eyes flick to the side, quickly running across the faces of the people around the hermits. TFC follows his gaze, at the hundreds of people standing around them. Waiting for their answer. He can hear them whispering, the honor to be invited to dine with the leader of Lairyon. The hermit guildmaster can feel the pressure to agree. Turning down such a proposal would be like turning down a gift from the gods. 

A flash of metal catches TFC’s eyes, as does the fearful faces of the hermits. The arcane guard, initially holding back the watching crowd, has moved in on his guild. While the swords of the guards remain sheathed, he can clearly see the sharp, shear edges of hidden knives held at the backs of each hermit. The carrot and the stick, laid out clearly before TFC. He has no choice. “We are so grateful for such an offer, I simply can’t refuse.” 

The delighted smile on Dolios’s face does not mask the hungry gleam in his eyes, and the magistrate walks away from the fountain. TFC can clearly see his face now, the smooth brown hair of his beard and well tamed curls of his ponytail. “Let us feast, in honor of the gods, the ancient ones, and the good people of Lairyon that have made this kingdom wonderful.” 

Guards close around the guild, moving between the townsfolk at hermits like they’re trying to protect them. But every hermit can feel the cold, sharp metal against their backs. They’d be safer in a pit of afanc than here among the arcane guard. They have no choice but to follow Dolios, away from prying eyes. They travel up the steps of the capitol hall, the ornate doors of the building swallowing them whole and closing it’s lips with a heavy wooden slam of the doors. 

Dolios turns around, his hand appearing from beneath the wide cuffs of his robes. The marble pillars catch and illuminate the light of Dolios’s spell. Sandy dust falls across the hermits, sparkling in the torchlight. Wels and BDubs are out like a light in a minute, but others fight off the sensation of sleep. Dolios’s calm voice does little to slow the magic. “You thought you were clever, huh? You thought you found all my secrets? Well, I have one last challenge for our champions. Sleep well, you’ll need it for your final challenge.”


	26. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured by Dolios, it’s up to TFC to decide who lives, who dies, and who gets to walk away from the game Dolios plays with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out my coauthor Red's tumblr, where you can find art, character designs, and more lore from both of us at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

“How about a game of chess, guildmaster?” Dolios waves the hermits into the antechamber of the prison. The death dungeons Galena warned them of. TFC is pushed forward, standing before and alone from his friends. He stumbles and turns, head spinning from the sleep he was awoken from as he looks at them all. Helmets cover the faces of the guards standing behind each hermit, but he can clearly see the knives at their throats. Every single one, a hair’s breadth from death. Some are stoic, like Doc. Unafraid and unblinking to the cold blade. Others are nearly collapsing to their knees- if doing so didn’t mean being cut by the knife. 

TFC turns back, a fierce growl rising from his throat “What is this about?” 

“I’m trying to be civil, can’t you see?” Dolios sweeps his purple robes to the side, revealing a table and two chairs. Atop the table, crystal and obsidian chess pieces glitter in the torchlight. “I’m letting you decide your team's fate. You see, each piece is a member of your illegal guild. On both sides. Each one that’s captured is eventual doom. Play my game, and decide the fate of your beloved friends. Who is more important, who will live? Who is sacrificed for the good of the cause?” 

“What kind of sick game-!” Grian claws his way out of his captor’s grip, biting down on the gloved hand before the masked man regains control over the spitfire. 

“And what happens when I win?” TFC puts a hand on his waist and raises a silvery eyebrow. 

“You won’t, but just to ease your fears, when you win your friends will get to live. It won’t be a nice time living, but they’ll be alive.” Dolios chuckles. “If you lose, those who are captured are killed and become another husk to add to my army. The rest may leave, in fact. But trust me- I won’t leave anyone alive. I play to dominate.” 

“What if I just don’t play?” TFC looks at the chess pieces. He picks up a knight, turning it over. Scrawled on the bottom of the crystal white horse, he can see Wels’s name. One piece, but one real life in this game of strategy. He has to be smarter than Dolios. 

“Then we can just make this fast and kill them all right now. I’m giving you the chance to free some, or all! Of your friends.” Dolios pulls out a chair and motions to it, brushing the cushioned velvet flat. “Sit, guildmaster. Let’s play a game. Show me your true worth as a champion guild.” 

Reluctantly, he does. He has no choice. This is the only way he can ensure some sort of life for his friends. But at the expense of others. As soon as he pulls his chair in, a blast of air and magic reverberates from the chess board. He winces, his hair blowing back and gripping the chair for support. When TFC reopens his eyes, the prison chamber has changed. 

Dolios and him are floating above the ground. Just beneath them, a massive chess board has appeared. The guards are gone, and on each checkered color stands a hermit. Only a few pieces are actual stone. Grian opens his wings, attempting to fly free from his place as bishop. But as soon as he takes off from the ground, his eyes widen and pain laces across his face. He crashes to the stone, black lightning shooting up his skin. Iskall and others step forward, before hesitating. They’re chess pieces now. Pawns. They can only move when the player moves them. Dolios looks down, chuckling. “He’s quite the wild child. Completely different from the last angel I quarreled with.” 

“Why are you doing this?” TFC hisses. “This isn’t fair!” 

“Since when did things ever become fair, guildmaster? You’re already playing with their lives by challenging me. Now you can see how your own mistakes led you here.” Dolios intertwines his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. He leans his chin on his hands, a coy smile making his brown beard scratch at his skin. “I’ll let you make the first move, TFC.” 

The guildmaster looks across his chess board, as well as below him. It’s not just his pieces that are hermits, that are his friends. Dolios has some as well. Standing deathly still, waiting for the first move to be taken. TFC closes his eyes, thinking. He needs to be smart, to be a better strategist than the magistrate of Lairyon. This isn’t just a game. This is beyond what happens at the table before him. He needs to think of the repercussions each move will make. He has to make the least bloody moves as possible. Save as many of his friend’s lives as possible. 

“You promise no harm will come to my friends that survive?” TFC’s eyes open, realizing what he has to do. Without hesitation, TFC picks up a pawn, directly in front of Grian. It’s Mumbo. 

“I promise, on my word as the magistrate of Lairyon. May the ancient ones strike me down themselves.” TFC sets the pawn two spaces forward. Below him, he hears Mumbo’s yelp, followed by a cry of pain and feet scrabbling forward. When the crystal mage looks up, Dolios is grinning. “So the game begins.” 

He shoves his own pawn forward, moving exactly as TFC wants him to. The one directly in front of the king- of Dolios himself. TFC looks down, seeing Ren shuffle forward. He’s missing a sandal, only one flopping against the cold marble chess board beneath him. Two moves in front of him and to the left is Mumbo, shaking in his boots. 

TFC moves a second pawn- Scar. “You have my friends marked wrong. None of them are pawns. They’re all stronger than you could ever hope to be.” Wels is exposed, Scar standing beside Mumbo. 

“Tell that to this- _checkmate_.” TFC straightens his back, staring directly at Dolios as the magistrate shoves his queen diagonally. It’s not linked to any hermit, so a stone statue moves into the corner of the board. Turning and facing the white king. Capturing TFC. “You stupid mining moron! You lost in two moves!” Dolios cheers, his chair knocking backwards as he pumps his fist to the air and stands. “I didn’t even lose a single damned piece!” 

“Neither did I.” TFC whispers. “Now let my friends go.” 

Dolios stills, freezing mid celebration. His head turns, looking to TFC. He can see the magistrate slowly piece it all together, and the moment he realizes what’s happened. Elation breaks away in seething anger. A rage so bright and hot TFC swears he can feel it from his chair. “You tricked me!” 

“No, I played your game.” TFC’s voice is calm, collected. “You just happened to win. What was it you said before… you play to dominate? And dominate you did. Shouldn’t a good leader find a way to win without bloodshed?” 

Dolios waves his hand, a black magic circle appearing. A reverberating sonic wave shoves TFC out of his chair, throwing chess pieces all around him. Floating above his friends, he can hear them gasp. Only able to watch. Unable to move, to help their guildmaster. Their friend. Doc reaches out, but the black veins quickly reach back towards him. Towards his heart. TFC winces, sitting up. “You swore on your seat to let them go if I lost! If you go back on your word, everyone will know!” 

“Oh, I don’t plan on going back on my words.” Dolios snaps his fingers, and the hermits warp back to reality. The chamber is it’s old dull hall, torches and stone bricks. Hermits collapse together, checking one another for wounds sustained while apart. Grasping to stay together, to piece what happened between their last memory and now. Most only remember the capitol hall, then being woken up by the masked guards in individual cells.

Dolios approaches TFC, setting his grey leather boot on the older man’s chest. Pressing his gilded heels harsh against his ribs. “But you still lost, you were captured. And all the pain your friends avoided? I’m going to do it tenfold to you!” 

A black ball of lightning grows as Dolios snarls, hand winding back and aiming directly for TFC. His eyes are wild, unhinged and untethered to reality. TFC raises his hand, a weak attempt to stop the growing dark magic before him. 

“Oh no you don’t!” X’s voice is sure, loud and reverberating off the stone walls. Unhindered by his mask. A snap follows soon after, and the dark lightning is dragged into nothingness. Into the void as X’s black hole grows. It threatened to eat up Dolios then and there, had he not taken an alarmed step back. 

“How? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You’re weak! My sleep spell should’ve...” Dolios turns, staring down the other hermits. Not noticing that Cub was hidden behind the others, or that TFC was no longer at his feet. 

“Nah, I’d say we’re pretty strong. Especially together.” X shrugs, and lets his black hole explode in a miniature big bang. 

With Dolios distracted, the crew makes their escape. Wels casts a shield and speed buffs, one hand raised to protect the retreat. Etho disappears down the hall, bouncing through shadows and silently taking out the guards ahead. At the top of the stairs, Mumbo hacks his way into the redstone powered door. Focusing all of his strength into forcing it open. Stress releases a sheet of ice before them, Jevin wraps everyone together into a bundle of bodies, and Impulse takes up a position next to Wels and his shield. Bracing against his friends, he casts his magic. Short spurts of explosions erupt from his hands, jetting the guild down the hall. 

Etho appears above the group from an arching shadow, grabbing Doc’s hand and joining them as they careen through the halls of the capitol building. Zipping past guards and wizards before anyone can even realize what they’ve seen, like a roller coaster ride. They don’t stop until they’ve burst out the back doors. Stress still doesn’t stop making a highway of ice, not until they’re well beyond the city limits, skating out into the open marshes that surround Milliara. 

Only then does the crew stop, breathing heavily and taking a moment to realize what just happened. And once they come to the same conclusion- they drown TFC in hugs.

###### 

“Sir… they escaped. Again.” Apatia runs up, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls. “They’re well beyond the walls. Should we send the Arcane guard after them?” 

“No. I don’t want anyone to question why we’re chasing after our champions. Erase all memories to anyone that saw their escape.” Dolios growls, rubbing his hand. Feeling the void still against his skin, trying to tear it apart. 

“But what about the illegal guild? They know-” 

Dolios turns away from the guildmaster, forcing the redstone door closed. Hiding the dungeons beneath the capitol building. “They are not our main concern. Let them squirm, let them think they’ve won. I have more important things to deal with. I have more power to gain.” 

Dolios looks down as something rattles against the floor. He stoops low, picking up the black pawn. It’s chipped, the onyx stone heavy in his hand. The Order of Hermits have captured this pawn, but he’s just setting the stage. Playing the whole field. “ _Check_.”


	27. Next Right Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where do the hermits go from here? All this knowledge, it bears so much weight. With their enemy being the leader of Lairyon himself, how can they possibly do anything now? Why should they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is by my coauther Red, who has given me permission to tell this story, as well as being the one who designs the hermits (cause i can't art), and is such an important help in making this story as badass and interesting as possible! Check him out at [ theguardiansofredland](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

The hermits wasted no time returning to Eremita. Running as far from Milliara as possible, into the safety of the Ashioll sea. Protected by the mysterious magic surrounding their home, the hermits are able to recuperate from the honor and horror they’ve witnessed. Exhausted from the Chimaera’s Championship, but terrified from what monstrosity Dolios put them through. The phoenix shaped chalice, the grand prize of gold and honor from the games sits discarded at the guild hall. Every night, a few hermits can be found huddled near a fireplace or drinking in someone’s house. 

The hermits left Eremita determined to find out who the dark mage was. They knew it was a Councilmember. They never expected it to be the magistrate himself. They never expected to win the Chimaera’s Championship, or stumble in on a plot much larger, much darker than they thought. And now here they are, narrowly escaped the dark mage’s wrath, with no clue what to do. 

This is bigger than the hermits. This is bigger than Gildara, or Danes, or anything they’ve ever faced before. This is beyond a scope they can even understand. Why is Dolios doing this? How far has his corruption spread? Who can stop Dolios, the Magistrate and leader of Lairyon? If the king is silent, and the Council is a part of his cabal, then no one is able to stop him. 

The hermits take the news in different ways- though no one celebrates their victory. Not after nearly dying in Dolios’s dungeons they only believed were rumors. The training field is empty, except for False. Anger burns through her pain, her kukri digging into the slime dummies she had Jevin make until the bodies rip in half. She decapitates one with a swift swing and turns around, ducking and rolling, before throwing molten blades into the chests of three more. The slime sizzles and burns, as hot as her anguish. 

At the sidelines, Wels watches as he buffs out the dents on his armor. He scrubs the metal till he can see his reflection in it, and then a little more. Trying to rub out the memories of the chess game, the dark magic that had trapped them in the sick game. 

Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango are together as always. But rather than trying to find trouble, all three sit on a haybale, just watching the animals of Zed’s farm. Tango twirls a stick full of leaves, much to the annoyance of the goat at his feet, eyes distant. Zedaph has been having a sleepover in their part of False’s forge, not wanting to leave his friend’s side. Not after knowing who killed their last guild. He doesn’t want to lose them as well. Impulse has no energy to be his bubbly, happy self. He feels like a cannon with a wet fuse, unable to light up and explode outward. Instead, he just mindlessly runs his fingers through the woolen fur of the sheep chewing on his clothes. 

Grian and Mumbo sit on the open windows of the angel’s house. Just watching the sun rise into an afternoon sun across the sea. They say nothing, a rare silence from Grian and even Mumbo. The two friends have nothing to say. They won the championship, but Grian still feels the horror of watching Mumbo forced to move like a chess piece. A pawn, set forward and open to attack. He knew he should have trusted TFC, but in the moment all he could think of was losing his best friend. 

Exiting his cave, TFC feels the oppressive mood in the air. He feels like he’s underground in Gildara again. That sense of hopelessness, that dampening weight on his shoulders. The guildmaster looks around, looks at his team, his island. A storm rolls in the distance, likely to come by evening and bless the island with life giving rain. But the hermits are like wilting flowers. Crumpled, lacking the color and life they normally carry with pride. Even the rainbow flags of the guild hall look muted. 

TFC hates this feeling, this suspension. Waiting for something to break, something to happen. If it won’t happen, he’ll make it happen. TFC picks up a stone from the mouth of his cave home, feeling the weight of the stone as he wanders to Xisuma’s tower. It’s a good piece of granite, a nice heavy weight without being too strong or sharp. It’s perfect for his plan. He rests the stone in his dominant hand, looking up at Xisuma’s tower, the gleaming telescope at the peak of the building. 

And he throws the stone. It clatters against Xisuma’s windowsill, rattling the metal frame but not breaking the glass. The stone falls, and he does it again. And again. Halfway through reeling back for a third throw, the window finally opens. X ducks just in time to miss getting a rock to the head. “What in the name of the gods are you doing?”

“Group meeting. Round up the others.” TFC crosses his arms, looking up at the wizard in the tower. 

“What? Why?” Xisuma sighs, but pulls on his mask all the same. It’s too bright for him right now. 

“If no one else is going to change the world, then we will.” TFC growls, then walks away. He motions for team ZIT to follow, and even dares to get between False and her training to call her to the guild hall. The open air space, enclosed only by clawlike stones and a ring of younger oak trees beneath the massive, entangling branches of the centerpiece, quickly fills with hermits. Sitting at the tables, Cleo tries to ease some of the tension with her good mead. But even Cleo’s best brews taste like swill right now. 

The last to arrive was Grian. Iskall was practically dragging him by the cloak into the guild hall, across the wooden grains of the floor, across the twining knot of birch and dark oak. Once the architechs were seated, Iskall and Grian with their own mugs of mead, TFC looks at the guild before him. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “I know what we faced was grim. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be you guys, forced to be pawns in Dolios’s sick game.” TFC notices False’s hands ball into fists at the mention of his name. “Especially to be moved by me, I wish I could’ve thought of a better way to stop him. 

“But we went to Milliara to discover who the dark mage was. We did that, and more. Dolios thought he could scare us, silence us. Make us turn on each other, make us choose who was more important and who wasn’t. But we’re not just a guild- we’re a family. It was terrible, but we got through it only because we worked as a team.” 

Silence meets TFC’s words. None of the hermits answer him. Normally, he struggles to get his guild to stay quiet for more than a minute. He feels he would have better luck teaching toddlers than talking to this lot. And it makes TFC’s stomach burn like magma to be able to hear rustling leaves, the distant bleat of a sheep. 

“And he’s winning.” He growls, looking at them all. “Look at us! Silent, still! Wallowing in what’s happened while Dolios is continuing to steal magic for his own nefarious desires! He’s winning, because we are doing nothing!” 

“What can we do?” Jevin sneers, leaning back. “We’re nobodies. An outlaw guild of misfits. We don’t have the power like the king, the prestige like a legal guild.” 

“That’s exactly why we can do it! We have our freedom, our strength in being beyond all that. If no one else will stop Dolios, if no one else can stop Diolios, then we should. Look at us,” TFC waves around as hermits pick up their heads. “We’re victors of the Chimaera’s Championship. We have more power and strength in this one hall than most guilds have in their entire history. We have a variety of magic and the creative minds to wield powers. To weave unlike magics into something greater.” 

“Why us, though?” Even Xisuma is sitting up, though his voice still has a twinge of doubt and exasperation. 

“If we don’t, who will?” The guildmaster looks around, seeing a spark return to the crowd. Thank Artyne, they’re finally talking over him again. “We know who the dark mage is, we know how to break a crystal, we’re not afraid of breaking a few rules! We may not be the heroes Lairyon needs, but we’re the only ones who can do it.” 

The surge of pride and power shocks across the hermits. A coy grin parts Doc’s hybrid face, sharp teeth revealed and glinting in the hot summer sunlight. Ren’s tail is wagging so fast it’s smacking Stress and Joe with each hemisphere completed. And TFC knows he’s gotten them hooked when he sees angelic feathers plume out from a gremlin smirk on Grian’s face.

TFC pulls out a map from the nook in a tree, brushing an acorn aside that was stashed along with it. Using now empty mugs from Iskall and Grian, he unfurls the map and gazes at the crescent shaped continent that is Lairyon. He pulls out a piece of charcoal, and sketches four marks on the map. One where Gildara was, a diamond shape that is matched with one in Milliara. But the one in Milliara is crossed out. Danes and their home island get swirls, neither crossed out. “We know of four events that for certain included dark magic. In Milliara, we were successful in breaking the crystal.” He taps on the x-marked diamond. “Unfortunately, we can’t be certain if those husk storms will reappear in Danes or here.” 

“We should gather information. Listen in to town gossip, meet with contacts, just try and find any stories that match what we saw.” Cleo hums, running her dead fingers along the map. “Go all across Lairyon, destroy any crystals and do our best to weaken Dolios.” 

“And try to find a way to stop his reign once and for all.” Doc adds, his voice growling. 

“We need every hermit in on this job.” TFC looks at the map, eyes alighting on Crystalla. Wels came back- it’s time for the other hermits to come home. “Joe, send a message to xB, Hypno, and Beef. Tell them that the Order of Hermits are fighting to take back Lairyon.”


	28. Hermits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its not often the hermits get a chance to all be together. And while they know battles lie ahead of them, they take this moment to enjoy being a family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to you all that Red is the one who came up with this AU, all the wonderful designs, populated this world, gave me so many ideas, and came up with these wonderful groups mentioned in this chapter! Check them out at [ @theguardiansofredland](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

Etho appears beside TFC, causing the mineral mage to sputter out the coffee he was sipping. “I caught sight of xB a few islands down!” 

The hermits murmur with excitement and follow Etho to the shoreline. Sure enough, xB is hauling Hypno and Beef onto the warm sand. Hypno thumps his hand against his head, an attempt to escape his clogged ears which only fails for him. “Can’t we take a sky turtle next time?” 

“But it’s more fun to swim!” xB chuckles, and with a flick of his finned ears and his grey tail he runs to hug the hermits. “It’s so good to be back, guys! I can’t remember the last time all of us were on the island together.”

“You guys said something about taking back Lairyon?” Beef raises an eyebrow, looking over at Doc. “This isn’t your rebellious phase coming back, is it?”

“We’ll explain everything on the way. TFC has a lot to tell.” Etho wraps his arms around Hypno and xB, before disappearing into their shared shadow. 

The kipling laughs, shaking his head and looking around the island. “Some things never change. I see you haven’t fixed the hole in False’s forge either.” 

The hermits laugh, the entire group filled with life as they return to the guild hall. Joe and Cleo regale the missing hermits with the story of their victory at the Chimaera’s Championship. Their battles and challenges in the arena, facing off against the best guilds and winning the cup. They also tell Hypno, xB, and Beef about the heist, the discovery. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Hypno hums, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table that he sits down at. TFC pats the boys on the head, grabbing at Beef’s face and tapping his finger on a scar he sees. Beef shrinks away, concerned for a second, but the guildmaster only chuckles in response.

“I can’t wait to hear that story. It’s good to have you guys back.” TFC pats him on the back. “Treat you to a pint of beer next time we go to town.” 

“Let’s hear about this big job you’ve got planned for us first.” xB raises an eyebrow. In response, TFC rolls out his map.

The paper has changed since they first decided to go after Dolios and his creepy crystals. If there’s one thing an outlaw guild knows how to do, it’s to find new jobs through the grapevine. “Dolios has these tales silenced. I’ve heard of at least six other guilds being attacked or wiped out by unknown magic. Unfortunately, we’re too late to help them.” Team ZIT glance at one another, but focus on the here and now. “But there are places we can make a difference, as well as get information and better ourselves as a group.”

TFC motions to the Evernight forest. “An old friend of mine said there has been stories of familiars and companion animals going missing. No trace of where they went, except for a few patches of charred grass.”

“Charred, or drained?” Mumbo muses. To anyone, that sounds like the signs of a dragon ravaging Foresta, but after Mumbo’s duel with a draconic mage he knows dragons aren’t that dastardly. Nothing is as dastardly as Dolios. 

TFC grins, the newest member and the guildmaster sharing a knowing glint. “There’s also Shellor- which, I believe one of our hermits here knows quite intimately.” Etho gives a two fingered salute, rocking on the back legs of his chair until they fall out from under him, dumping him on the floor. Doc, Beef, and BDubs laugh at him. “There’s a few spies who’ve seen things Dolios has done, but the hard part will be earning their trust.” 

“Hmm, yeah. I don’t think I really left Shellor on a good note.” Etho grimaces. 

“That’ll be you, Keralis, and Grian’s problem. Meanwhile, we also need some help in the magical beings department. And if there’s one group that has mysterious, arcane magic on lock, it’s-”

“The fae!” Stress slams down her hands, a bright smile on her face. Iskall jolts upright and nearly hits the table again on the way down. “But where will we go? The fjords? The mountains? Heartbreak Trench?” 

“The flowerfruit fields. While you’re there, you and BDubs can gather ingredients that we’ve been running low on.” TFC glances at the map, running a finger over the lime green patch on the map. “We do have two confirmed crystal sightings, as well as Gildara. Edenswell seems to be falling ill to dark magic, and there’s reasonable belief that Dolios isn’t getting these massive rocks from nowhere- he’s using gems from the mines.” 

Heads peek over one another in an attempt to see the map. The charcoal diamonds and swirls. Gildara still sits untouched, and every hermit looks at one another. Do any of them want to return to the beginning of this all? Even to put an end to the dark magic plaguing the land, the memories of what they saw, what they experienced, still remain.

Except for those that weren’t there. “I don’t think I’d mind checking out this hokey little town you guys keep talking about.” Beef grins, glancing over at Hypno and Wels. “We’ll have that place brimming with flaxen fields and green gardens all over again.” 

TFC grins, dipping his head in thanks to the returning hermits. He leans back, looking at the filled guild hall. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together. If only it were on good terms.” 

“It feels good to return home.” xB ruffles his hair with a scaled hand, looking around for a second, then returning to speaking. “Even if it’s just for a short time, we should enjoy everyone being together again.” 

“What I’m hearing is we need to have our signature hermit celebrations.” Tango’s face splits into a devious smile. All around him, other hermits get a similar smirk on their face. Before TFC can agree to the idea, the hermits are gone. Cleo rushes to her wrecked pirate ship, hefting kegs of ale with the aid of Stress. Wels commandeers False’s forge to begin baking his favorite sweets, while Mumbo, Grian, and Iskall work together to fix the pennants, lanterns, and flags that decorate the guild hall in a myriad of colors. 

Tango snaps his fingers, and a small flame dances at his fingertips, jumping from his nails to the wicks of the lanterns. He ducks out of the way just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by a massive fish, tossed from the sea by xB and grabbed by Grian midair. The whirlpool mage disappears back underwater, back to hunting in the realm he was born in. 

The sun begins to inch towards the western horizon, turning the sky ablaze in a mosaic of pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds. A blue flag flutters against the ancient oak tree, catching on a branch. BDubs reaches out from his seat near the food platters, hardly even glancing away from the fresh baked goods, and with a flick of his wrist the branch bends away and the flag flies free again. 

False appears beside Wels, grabbing a brownie from the hot pan and sticking her tongue out at him as she passes. When Wels objects she’s quick to retort. “You used my forge. It’s rental payment, paladin.” 

Beef sets out plates, which are promptly ignored once Impulse and Zedaph have finished cooking the tuna xB caught. Music swells from a music box the creation of Ren, with the help of Mumbo, the upbeat songs written and composed with Joe and requests from the other hermits for their favorite tunes. 

The music thrums against the low roar of talking, the sound only broken by the common lilt of laughter. Hermits tell their stories, whether they be heard for the thousandth time or a new tale to tell. Beef causes Hypno to flush as he recounts the prank he pulled on the dream mage. Hypno turns bright red, quiet voice cracking over the tale. “I smelled like centaur shit for a week! It was awful, I’ll tell you that.” 

A raucous laugh erupts from that table, overshadowing the story of Mumbo’s duel to xB. “I swear on my life, I thought she was gonna swallow me whole. Or burn me like coal.” Mumbo shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever want to go up against a draconic mage ever again in my life.” 

“I’m surprised a kipling, a draconic mage, and a desert wizard were one team. That’s a strange group. I don’t think I’ve even met each of the others.” xB takes a bite of his fish, marinated in fresh fruits that Cub plucked from nearby islands. “But I’m sure that kipling gave you guys a run for your money. That magic she had… it’s rare beyond imagination. In kipling legend, it means a legendary hero is about to arise.” 

“He definitely kicked Ren’s ass. I don’t think I ever saw so much water moved at once.” Mumbo shakes his head, and stuffs a red jelly tart into his mouth. 

Keralis stands, tossing his woven hat from the brown curls of his hair, and inviting himself onto the open floor. “I love this song! Come on, my wonderful friends, let’s dance!” 

The setting sun casts a golden glow, bouncing off verdant leaves, twisting along the waves of the Ashioll sea. Laughter and music dance in the gilded light, playing in the curls of Zedaph’s hair as he joins Keralis. The two bumble around, drunk from Cleo’s ale but enjoying themselves immensely. 

Only one hermit wasn’t taking part in the festivities. Atop the canopy that protects the guild hall below, Xisuma watches as the stars appear in the sky. For a few moments in the day, the void and the sun share the space above. And he always thinks of the one person he knows he should forget by now. But he would’ve loved this, even if he’s constantly worrying about being caught doing something wrong. 

“Hey X, you gonna mope up there all day or join us?” Jevin grins below, one hand placed on his hip and the other waving Xisuma down. “Just because you’re a void mage doesn’t mean you have to a-void everything!” 

Xisuma rolls his eyes, but smiles beneath his mask. “After that terrible pun, how can I say no?”


	29. In Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to his hometown, Etho hs to balance his past with his present, as well as keep Keralis and Grian from embarrassing him in from of his old teacher and town. 
> 
> An Important word from our favorite coauthor: 
> 
> _Hey everyone, Red speaking. I’m very grateful for you guys reading and enjoying this story. I would really love to know what you think of the wizard designs of the hermits that I have on my blog! I love hearing your comments and knowing what you guys think of the designs would be nice_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU, the designs, as well as many of these brilliant ideas are brought to you by my coauthor Red! He's the one who explained a lot about the filipino culture that we have mixed in here, all his wonderful family knowledge (and makes me wanna have palabok now). 
> 
> Check him out at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

Etho always thought he was a handful- he may act mature, but his mind is full of mischief that would make even a criminal stumble. But dragging Keralis and Grian through the misty swamps of his home, he realizes there are more ways than one to cause trouble. 

Keralis goes sloshing away, swallowed up by the fog. The only way Etho knows he still exists is by the loud splash of the bug wizard, followed by a string of curses in his thick accent. Keralis returns to Etho’s side, wrestling a stag beetle and cooing at how lovely it looks. 

Grian on the other hand, Etho couldn’t get to shut up. “I think I have half the swamp in my boots.” 

“You could just fly.” Etho points out. 

“But I can’t see anything!” Grian’s whine echoes through the thick copse of trees, bouncing off submerged ferns and aged wood. “How do you even know where you’re going?”

“Secret ninja techniques.” Etho muses, following the trail at his feet. Beneath the water, he can feel ridges carved into the stone, under the silt. Guiding him to his hometown.

Keralis’s eyes get wider than usual at the sound of a branch snapping in the distance. He whips his head around, pulling on his hat and brushing closer to Etho. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

“We’re not.” Etho grins. Both Grian and Keralis whimper, searching the fog like they’re trying to see a ghost. They might as well be. “The town knows we’re coming. They’ve already seen us, even if we haven’t seen them.” 

“Ninjas.” Grian whispers. The trio continues in silence, or at least as silent as Grian and Keralis can be, sludging through the swamp. Grian chatters with himself and the bug wizard, his voice bouncing up cypress trees as tall as towers, clambering over the roots. He gets a foot tangled in the submerged vines, and goes headfirst into the slow moving brown water with a yelp. “Etho, when the hell are we going to get to this town? I haven’t seen any signs that we’re even close.” 

“Ah, yeah. I haven’t seen a spot of dry ground this whole time.” Keralis adds. “Are they on stilts? How does a town like that stay out of the swamp?” 

Etho feels the carved markings beneath his feet turn into a radiating circle, like a ripple across the surface. He stops, grabbing Keralis and Grian, a grin appearing on his unmasked face. “We’re here.” 

Grian turns around in a full circle, looking at the copse of trees. “Uhhh, are you okay Etho? This looks the same as every other part of the swamp.”

“Maybe it’s hidden in the fog? Fog magic?” Keralis waves his arms around as if he’s attempting to feel around in the dark. 

Etho leans against a root, grinning. “Try looking up.” 

Grian does so, and gasps. 

Above their head, a town hovers over them. Lantern lights split through the fog, unveiling themselves like a stage curtain, warm yellow glows dancing off the wood and paper. Beneath the strung lantern lights, dancing will-o-the-wisps above their heads, bridges of plank and rope connect tree to tree and guide the townsfolk across the swamp without making a sound. 

The fog continues to disappear, and the town of Shellor unmasks in ripples. Homes and businesses nestled in the massive trunks of the trees or perched on the expansive branches, the open air filtering the earth and water tone of the swamp air through bars, abodes, shops, and shrines. For a second, Grian wishes Mumbo was here to rant about the engineering marvel above his head. How much time it must’ve taken to build a town in the sky, where they even get the fire from, and hidden out of sight, out of sound. He never even realized they were walking beneath it. 

“How...how do we get up there?” Keralis tips his head, holding onto his hat so it doesn’t slip off. 

“Normally, adults can just climb up ourselves.” Etho launches from the root, grabbing hold of a branch and swinging himself up, higher and higher. “And Grian can fly, obviously. But- I’ll grab the basket.” 

“Basket?” Keralis watches the two disappear among the intertwining bridges. A second later, something is dropping back to the ground. It’s not a basket he thought it would be. It’s a lift of sorts. The wood floats like driftwood on the murky swamp water, the walls opening to invite Keralis in. He clambers on the wood panel, surprised to find that the weight hardly even shifts. Even when the walls pull back up around him and the basket starts to rise, he feels like he’s on solid ground. It’s the smoothest lift he’s even been on, something that would put Darlon to shame. 

Etho and Grian have their heads poking over the railing as Keralis rises up. “A pretty neat invention, huh?” Etho laughs, running a finger along the rope, watching the pulley system release the weight a distance away. “It’s not used often anymore, really just for when kids need to get down, supplies, the like.” 

Keralis stumbles onto the bridge. The warm glow of lantern light invites him deeper into Shellor, and the scent of food makes his stomach growl. Spices that dance with the mist, a warm rumble of quiet laughter from the nearby restaurant. But everyone’s movements are lithe and silent, even if their talking isn’t. Everyone in the town walks without a sound, like cats stalking their prey. Exactly how Etho walks, constantly spooking Keralis when he’s in the middle of reading or baking. 

It quiets down, and even Etho pauses. Grian and Keralis turn around, surprised to find Etho prostrating before a shrine. They never took him to be the god-worshipping kind. But they sit down next to him, looking at the shrine. It’s made of stone- how that got up here, neither of them can guess. Lanterns are kept aglow and the crescent shaped bowl protected with a carved wooden gazebo. After a few moments, Etho speaks. “Manys, god of the moon. Patron to Shellor, teacher to the art of stealth. I remember my first lesson to harness my power was to watch the full moonlight travel across the swampwater. Silent, but present.” 

“Is that how you learned to be a shadow ninja?” Keralis whispers while Grian lights a dying candle. 

“Nope.” Etho chuckles. “I definitely took a more...physical approach.” 

“Etho!” All three hermits stiffen at the shrill shriek of the shop owner a few bridges down. “I knew you’d come back! Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about all that candy you stole!” 

“Ah, that’s what you mean.” Grian muses, watching as Etho is given an earful by the man. It’s the first time Keralis and Grian have ever seen Etho embarrassed, the pale skin under his white hair blushing red, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Mr. Toku, I think Etho has heard well enough.” A warm voice, quiet but persistent, cuts through the berating tirade. Before her first syllable was uttered, Keralis and Grian knew this was someone of importance. An unusual sense of raging peace, like sitting next to a swollen waterfall in the middle of a forest, exudes from the woman like an aura. She turns, and immediately sweeps Etho into a hug. “It is good to have you home, my pupil.” 

“Hello Reverent Nama.” Etho squeaks, hardly able to breathe against such a tight hug. A weak smile appears on his face, the one person he missed most when he left being his teacher, the head monk of Shellor. Nama. He doesn’t even remember her real name, he’s always called her Nama. 

“Look at you, so tall! You grew like a shoot, Etho.” She grabs his cheek, looking at the scars on his face. “I still remember the day your magic first showed itself. Have you been using my teachings, anak ko?” 

“Nama, I remember it all. But you know me.” He offers a sly grin, but nods silently. “I still like to watch the moon, though.” 

“The best teacher, and the mother always with you.” Nama’s voice dips into a lower octave at her sagely advice, before rising back up as a smile creases her warm, deep toned skin. “But you must be starving, walking through the swamp. Come, bring your friends.” 

She waves her hands, blue and white robes beckoning the weary travelers deeper into the town. A glint of lantern light catches Grian’s attention, and his eyes go as wide as saucers at the sight before him. The biggest gong he’s ever seen in his life. Taller than Grian, even with his wings stretched high above his head, the silver metal glimmering like the moon at the center of the town. Archways decorate and dance around the massive instrument. Grian’s drawn to the gong like a moth to the flame. 

Only to be thwarted by Etho. He grabs Grian by the collar, dragging him back in line with Reverent Nama and the other monks. Keralis giggles and teases Grian even as they enter the raised, thatched house. Bowed roofs similar to the arches and pagodas they saw before protect angular, woven walls and open windows. The swamp breeze filters through the mat-strewn floor as Nama opens the sliding door. Nama disappears into an upper level, before returning with a steaming teapot and five different plates of food. The boys sit at the low table, suddenly alone with the leader of Shellor. Silent as shadows, her peers had disappeared. Like ninjas. “I assume this is not just a family visit.” 

“How did you know?” Keralis croons, sipping on the warm tea poured before him. His eyes light up at the fried, wrapped treat set on his plate. His massive bug eyes only unnerve Nama, repositioning in her seat at the sight of such strange friends Etho brought. 

“Etho isn’t exactly the visiting kind. A practical pupil, even to the day he left.” 

“Nama, you of all people know how to gather information. You see what the moon sees.” She nods at Etho’s words. It’s not hyperbole- it’s her magic. “Surely you have information about husk monsters attacking all over Lairyon.” 

“Why does that interest you, Etho?” Nama gazes over the rim of her teacup.

“We intend to stop it.” Grian states, flat and plain. Etho seethes, sending imaginary daggers at the blond angel before him. He needs to be more subtle than that! 

“Finally, someone to take up the mantle.” She responds. “I have heard worrisome things, are you three sure you can handle such a task?” When all of them nod, she continues. “Then you need to start here- husks have been attempting to enter Shellor for the past few days. They have broken through our mist barrier, but have been unable to reach the town. I do not think they will stop trying until they reach the bridges.”

“They want to steal your magic, your power. They’ll kill you all.” Etho growls. 

“Exactly as what my informants told me. Do you boys think you could defeat an army of mindless creatures?” She pauses, looking at their faces. Seeing the glint in their eyes and knowing. “Excuse me, I have underestimated you. It seems you have already done so before.” 

“We’ll need more than just your information, Reverent Nama. We need supplies, tools of stealth that only Shellor can create. We need to use every advantage we can find to stop these husks. To stop-”

“To stop Magistrate Dolios, yes.” Nama nods, a growl breaking through her neutral expression. “Whatever you and your friends need, I will be happy to give. But for now, eat! Tell me, anak ko, who are your friends here.” She leans over to Etho. “Is the one with the large eyes okay? Is he some sort of hybrid?” 

Etho chuckles, and welcomes the warm food of home into his body. He missed the taste of good palabok, wishing at least one other hermit could cook his hometown’s food like Nama could. He introduces Keralis, quickly explaining his magic, then moving onto Grian. Even Nama, in all her wise counselling, was shocked to learn he was an angel mage. She knew they existed, beneath the watchful eyes of the moon, but to see one in front of her? And in a guild as wayward as Etho describes? 

Their plates are filled as fast as they’re emptied, food appearing out of what felt like nowhere. Etho smiles as he hears laughter rise from his friends and teacher. He left Shellor because he felt restrained. But to be home? It felt freeing, now that he’s an adult. Now that he has his guild, he feels more connected to here than ever before. They continue talking well into the night, until the fog fades and the moon observes the quiet swamp. 

Nama closes her eyes, falling into a quiet meditation at the dinner table. But when her eyes open, it’s anything but calm. She rises so fast her knees almost spill the table over, robes fluttering like leaves in the wind. “They’re here. Oh gods, they’re already at the barrier.

“You wanted lessons in stealth? Well, lesson number one- don’t let your enemy see you.” Nama motions for another monk, and he casts his magic circle. In one deep breath, he inhales the magic. And a gust of wind from his lips blows out every single candle. Only the full moonlight bears illumination upon the town. 

And the distant crack of lightning, an ashen storm visible through the spindly cypress trees.

Townsfolk shuffle in the dark, accustomed but alarmed. Night is when Shellor is most alive, lanterns lit and moon in full view. Nama sends her monks to scout ahead, to be the first line of defense, before marching towards the center of town. 

Towards the gong. It reflects the moonlight, blue luminescence titillating across the silver instrument. A mallet the length of Nama’s arm is plucked from the arch, but she pauses. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Etho practically holding Grian back, the angle bouncing in his boots. Like so many of her other pupils, and who is she to deny him something so exciting? She hands the mallet into Grian’s hand. He wastes no time putting it to work. With wings unfurling and hovering at the center of the circle. One mighty reel backwards, he swings. The mallet strikes the metal, and both Grian and the gong reverberate in response. A low, loud ringing warns the entire town they’re under attack. Grian still feels the sensation of the strike in his arms even after he lands. 

“The husks aren’t after anything in particular- they just want as much magic as possible.” Etho warns, pulling free his kusarigama, watching the darkness. In the distance, a blood curdling howl of a banshee turns even his blood cold. He doesn’t want to face that beast on good terms, much less a creepy husk version. 

“How can you stop them?” Nama questions, dipping her arms into her robes. She doesn’t need a weapon to be dangerous. 

“There’s no crystal.” Keralis warns. “But there is a darkness storm.” He points to the distant canopy, black clouds roiling across the sky. 

“We just have to defeat them. One by one, it will weaken the storm and purge the land of their presence.” Grian flutters over the side of the bridge, looking down. Below, among the swamp water and cypress roots, monsters and mages scrabble up the aged cypress wood. Throwing themselves higher and higher, unlike Etho’s smooth agility to the town. “No matter what, don’t let your fighters get caught by the husks. They’ll turn into one.” 

“Stealth is our trade, angel.” Nama hums, arm reappearing and offering up supplies to the trio. Smoke bombs, firecrackers, magical climbing gear for Keralis, an enchanted mirror to Grian. “We shall do our best, but you three are clearly the masters in this battle.” 

Nama steps back, and bows. Pride swells in Etho’s chest, almost causing him to tear up. If he didn’t hear the snarls of darkness consumed being of pure anger, hatred, and power, he probably would’ve. He’s never seen Reverent Nama bow to anyone else before. 

And then she’s gone. Disappearing among her robes, the hermits next see her down at the roots. Battling with a cold rage, like sunlight reflecting off the moon. Etho hands a few smoke bombs to his friends, grinning. “Let’s raise hell, shall we?”


	30. Faerie Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BDubs and Stress take a trip to the eternal spring fields in eastern Lairyon, where they face lighthearted trouble and grim fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my awesome partner Red at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)
> 
> He's the one who came up with this AU, the designs of hermits, and so many ideas like the flowerfruit fields!

“Oh! That tingles.” BDubs giggles, feeling the hot, dry heat turn into a comforting warm breeze upon entering the magical barrier. Wet, damp air hanging with droplets soaking in the warm sun rays, clinging to the vibrant flowers and trees that turn the enchanted forest into a painting. Eternal spring among the Flowerfruit Fields, petals and berries of rare specimens growing in the wild space. Pink and green grow from the collapsed buildings, vines laden with fruit creeping down the roof. The vines and bushes overflow onto the thin green pathways of the roads and walking trails.

It’s the fruit and herbs that Stress and BDubs are here for. If they hope to face Dolios, and to help their friends ward off the darkness that attacks them, they need an antidote for dark magic. Stress thinks she found a potion that could reverse any ill effects- if administered in time. Unfortunate for the hermits, the ingredients are rare and unusual. No apothecary she visited had the ingredients she needed. Most they never even heard of. 

But if there’s one place she could find the ingredients, it was here in the fields. Foraging among neon green leaves and plump blue fruit. And if there’s one hermit that knows what weed is what, it would be BDubs- resident plant mage. And already, he’s like a kid in a candy store. “Amazing, I thought the starflower went extinct eons ago! Oh, is that a kipling scale vine? Absolutely incredible, stunning.” 

Stress snorts back a laugh. “How do you keep all that information in yer head?” 

“By removing non-important info, like how not to yell, or all my maths I learned in school. A-and names. If they aren’t a hermit, I don’t remember.” BDubs springs to his feet, grabbing the parchment of paper while Stress escapes the heat of her robes. It’s a little much, the fuzzy wool and thick fleece. She wraps the sleeves around her waist, revealing pale, toned arms and a bright pink undershirt. “Alright, what’s on the shopping list for today?” 

Together, the two forage across the field. Stress plucks leaves that BDubs points out, bags fruit that she remembers from the potion book, but no matter how long they searched, they could not find the rarest, most elusive ingredient of all- dragonfruit. Though BDubs has heard of the unique plant, he has no clue how it grows. Is it a vine plant, like a melon? Or perhaps arboreal, or bushgrown. After stabbing himself on the thorns of an estenberry bush, for the fifth time, he snarls defeat. 

“Aww, don’t give us that attitude, BDubs. We’ve been at this fer ages, it’s okay if we take a break.” Stress gazes at the sky, the sun already setting. They arrived here this morning, but all day among the fields has eaten up their daylight. A cold breeze nips at her nose, inviting her to set up camp. 

“No, I’m not stopping until this job is done!” He plunges his hands into a patch of star flowers, hoping that maybe he’ll find something in there. Instead, he feels the sensation of something cool but energetic running along the tips of his nails. The sound of bells rings in his ears. 

And Stress smacks her forehead, so hard that her pale skin turns as red as a Fi fruit. “The fair folk! Of course! They created the Flowerfruit fields, surely they’d know where we can find one of them dragonfruit!” 

BDubs snorts, brushing dirt from his fingers. “You actually believe in faeries? What are you, twelve?” 

“Would you-!” Stress claps her hand over his mouth, glancing from side to side, then glaring him down. “Of course they’re real, BDubs. What, you tellin’ me you’ll believe in dragons and plant monsters, but the other kind are too far outta the realm of belief?” 

The plant mage only nods his head, glancing around at the evening field. Fireflies dance in the blue night sky, and bunnies hop across the trails, from fruit to fruit in search of their next meal. He sighs, backing away. If there’s one thing he learned, it’s best not to trifle with any of the girls. Cleo and False could run him through with their blades if he crosses them- which, admittedly, takes a lot to do. But he’s also the master of annoying people. Stress however… she needs no weapon to make an impact. “Alright, we’ll look for your faerie friends, if you think it’ll help.” 

Stress’s smile is worth backing down on this argument. Seeing his friends happy is what he loves to see most. BDubs follows the ice blue trail of her robe into a thicket of trees, dancing around the rare and exquisite herbs growing at his feet. He can hear the sound of bells ringing in his ears, soft and sweet, just at the cusp of sounding like voices and laughter. Some of the dancing fireflies cast shadows that look bipedal, but he chalks it all up to his weary body. Stress and him had been traveling for days to arrive here, only to jump right into searching for ingredients. Ingredients that now swing in pouches and vials on his and Stress’s waist. 

All except for this ridiculous dragonfruit. He can’t help but grumble to himself as he follows Stress. Why would a dragon even want fruit? Are they omnivores? It sure didn’t seem like it at the championship. Do they grow them, is that why? What he wouldn’t give to see a massive dragon tending to a tiny dragonfruit plant, tilling the soil and watering it at the mouth of their caves. 

BDubs is yanked out of his own thoughts, Stress grabbing him by the arm and nearly throwing him into the mossy grass at her feet. He’s about to whine about the rough takedown, but she falls to the floor next to him. “Look!” 

The two peer through ivy and bushes. Before their eyes, mushrooms and toadstools grow and glow in the moonlight. Pink flowers of cherry blossom trees sway, petals falling to the verdant floor in a storm of rose. Fireflies dim to reveal the festivities inside the ring. Dozens of fae, dancing with bare feet across the soft moss. Their laughter sounds like tiny bells, harps and pipes filling the air as if it were a human orchestra. No matter their tiny size, the music rose well beyond the center of their festivities. 

Stress reminds herself it’s rude to eavesdrop. She crawls through the bush, about as unlady-like as she can get, but announces her arrival. “Hello, fair folk!” 

The fae rise on dragonfly wings, an aura of light following them as they dance upon glitters and gusts. They bow and welcome Stress to the Flowerfruit Fields, though the music grinds to a halt and the glimmers turn red. Stress realizes what’s wrong, and elbows BDubs in the stomach. Hard. “Ow! Alright, Hello, other kind or whatever.” 

“Don’t ruin this, be polite.” She growls under her breath, amber eyes turning icey. “Just...follow my lead.” Stress turns away, walking into the clearing. Careful to avoid stepping within the faerie circle. “I’m the Ice Mage, and that’s the Plant Mage.” 

“My name is-” BDubs howls as a heavy snowboot lands on the arch of his foot. “Yep, that’s me, the Plant Mage.” 

A young faerie, hair a dark halo of curls bouncing against deep hued skin. Pink petals stitch into clothing, a smile for jewelry and raindrops for gems. “Welcome, mortal mages! For what reason do you enter our forest? Do you wish to join in our celebrations? Perhaps you would like some food?” 

At least this time, BDubs waits for Stress to tell him no. They do not enter the faerie circle, nor do they accept the food. “Actually, we’ve been lookin’ fer something all day long, and if there was anyone who would know where to find the final ingredient to our list, it would be the very people that created these fields.” 

Just like BDubs, fae like their egos stroked. The fae accept the kind comments, a few playing with Stress’s short brown locks. BDubs steps away, unwelcome to the idea of tiny, glittery creatures touching him in any way. “Of course, we would love to show you our wonderful creation. Eternal spring, the time of birth and celebration!” 

The faerie attempts to lead Stress into the circle, but she’s too clever to be caught in their trap. She’s a woman raised in high society- she can sniff out trouble a mile away. “We searched all day, but could not find the last ingredient we need.” 

“A dragonfruit.” BDubs finishes, wringing his hands. If he gets his hands on the seeds of this rare plant, he’ll propagate it in his own jungle garden, until no one ever has to stick their hands in a fi fruit bush ever again in search. The fae around him titter, and he catches only snippets of the gossip and conversations around him. Something about the rarity of the fruit, the tender care needed, like it was a jewel or child. How much time it took for the fae to find one. He sneers, turning his back on the petite party. “Forget it, they don’t have the ingredient Stress. They just want to force us into their weird little realm they’ve got.” 

“BDu- Plant Mage!” Stress claps her hand over her mouth. He said her name. Not her full name, thankfully, but it’s one piece to the puzzle the fae could use in their tricks. She turns back, kneeling to the tiny troublemakers. She has to pick her words carefully. “Please ignore my ignorant friend, he didn’t mean what he said. Your help is greatly appreciated from me, and my appreciation spans to him.” 

“Oh, yeah. Thank you so much for all the help. I dunno about you, Ice Wizard, but I don't see a dragon-” His whining morphs into squeaking, and laughter crowds the illuminated air around Stress. Her fellow hermit is no longer at her side. A rabbit is instead. No, wait. Stress would know that tuft of hair between large, floppy ears anywhere.

“He runs his mouth like a bunny.” The pink faerie giggles. They turn their attention to Stress, a glint in their eye matching the mischievous tone of their voice. And Stress thought the look on Grian’s face was trouble. “Unfortunately, bunnies cannot carry a dragonfruit. And I don’t think we’d want to give such a rare fruit to ungrateful humans. No no no!” 

“Fair folk, we humbly request your kindness. My friend here is an idiot-” She yelps as sharp bunny teeth nip her fingers. “And a right meanie. But we need the fruit. This potion is crucial to the safety of all Lairyon. Please, if he apologizes consider giving us the dragonfruit.” 

“An apology will not be enough.” A fairy with a red aura and lanky wings deems. “Apologies are worthless to the fae. Your belittled bunny here must prove he is sorry, and lower his crown to that of jester to be granted reprieve.” 

Stress glances at her furry friend, but he shakes his head, crossing his paws in defiance. “It’s a deal! What’s one little prank gonna do?” 

The fields flurry around the two, separating Stress from bunny BDubs. One faerie settles on Stress’s shoulder, warning her she should stay back. They don’t want the kind human to be caught up in the misgivings of the illfated. Another faerie drops a flower crown atop Stress’s head, though Stress is careful not to accept any food the fair folk offer.

BDubs, on the other hand, is picked up by his fluffy cotton tail by three different fae, their laughter a cacophony of bells. His tiny claws dig into the dirt, but the otherworldly beings are must stronger than his thumper feet, and they succeed in pulling him to a faerie well. The pink aura fairy flits to the stone siding, casting dust into the ripples as if she were sowing seeds. The water turns a milky shade, swirling like clouds trapped in the ground. Mist pours from the sides. 

Fae pull BDubs off the ground, suspending the rabbit above the well. “Enjoy your nap, Plant Mage.” 

Stress joins in the raucous laughter from all around the forest, and a short squeak is cut off when the faeries dunk BDubs into the well. He doesn’t stay under for long, but when the faeries pull him out, his eyes are closed and mouth lolled open. Somehow, even in a rabbit’s body, BDubs manages to snore. Stress raises an eyebrow. “Is that all?” 

The fae go silent, the entire forest echoing only the sound of BDubs fast asleep, apart from a snicker here and there. A squeaky, high pitched voice breaks the silence. “Nonono, big gummy bear, I’m not cherry flavored. I swear.” 

Stress realizes the voice is coming from the rabbit, and a snort slips through her lips. The forest roars with laughter, as BDubs continues to dream aloud. His dreams jump from ridiculous statement to ridiculous statement. Stress was sure she heard the weirdest things come from BDubs before, but she can’t help but howl like a chupacabra when BDubs mumbles out his secret enjoyment of diamonds. “Guess someone ‘as rubbed off on ya. Better remember to wash my coins and jewels when they come from both of ye now.” 

Feeling fuzzy both inside and out, BDubs coughs up a hairball from his throat. He opens his eyes, rubbing them from sleep, before realizing he is fuzzy. He’s still part rabbit, in the midst of transforming back from bunny to human. Paws turning to hands, ears shortening back to be beneath his bandana. The young faerie donned in pink settles their arm against BDubs’ bunny feet. “So, how was your nap?” 

“That was the wor-” Stress cuts BDubs off, eyes blazing hot enough to melt all the ice in Lairyon. The last thing he should be doing is rebuking the fae. Again. BDubs groans, but voice pitches to a sickly sweet tone. “I had a wonderful nap.” 

The fair folk all in the fields laugh and cheer, some zipping away to tell others of the fun they missed. It’s a rare delight to have such entertainment, such a witty human that can still fall for their pranks. The young faerie in pink disappears among the bushes, and returns with a bag full of small black seeds. “We fae keep our word.” 

“Th-” BDubs remembers not to say those words, and simply bows his head in response. “Great kindness, i guess or whatever.” 

“We will miss your company.” They snicker. “We would love to have a romping rabbit to bemuse us...and of course, the kindly Ice mage. Take good care of these rare seeds, they require the care of a beast, much like their namesake.” 

BDubs takes the pouch, securing it right next to his heart. He’s going to sleep holding these seeds after what he’s been through. The two hermits rise, about to make their way from the fields when a green light collides into BDubs’s head. “Can I not get a godsdamned break here?” 

The faerie that ran into him shakes off his stupor, voice running so fast it sounds less like talking and more like chirping. Stress turns to look at the fae. “What’s the problem, loves?” 

Faeries rush around them, flitting around in every direction with no sense of purpose or precedent. The young pranking pixie starts to fly away, but stops dead in the air. “No, no that will not do. The dark presence is too close.” 

“Dark presence? What do you mean?” Stress follows the faerie, but they turn on the hermits. A hand as small as Stress’s pinky nail passes between hermit and other kind. BDubs moves to follow, but discovers he can’t pick up his feet. It’s as if they are rooted into the ground. 

“Be the light.” The faerie breathes, before disappearing in the brambles and bushes. Stress cries, watching as her robes turn to bark, bones to wood. Her feet have become roots, and it’s climbing higher. 

BDubs reaches out to help his friend, shock dawning on his face as his fingers turn to branches, bright pink cherry blossoms blooming. The transformation engulfs Stress’s face, Features turning to knots and whorls of the grain. He can only close his eyes, and accept that they’ve been tricked by the fae again. 

Except when he opens his eyes, he can still see. He cannot move, cannot even breathe, but he remains able to see the outside world. He feels a brush of leaves against his own branches, and that’s all he needs to know that Stress is alive as well. 

Why have the fae trapped them? Why turn them to trees, but let them see the world beyond? 

Screams fill the air where there was once birdsong and laughter, the peace of the Flowerfruit Fields shattered. BDubs surges forward, but is stopped by his own roots and rigidity. A howl sends shivers down his leaves, and in the moonlight, a shadow beast prawls through the grove. A varkolak husk, red foam dripping from it’s misty muzzle, sniffs the air before chasing after fleeing lights.

Stress can’t watch. She closes her eyes, hearing the husked creatures snarl and snap, and a distant chuckle begins to arise from the bloodbath. She keeps her eyes closed, until that charismatic voice warms across the massacre. “Such raw magic...so ethereal, why haven’t I thought of coming here before?” 

Three spires of black crystal orbit around Dolios’s crown, mist swirling. With each breath Dolios takes, he consumes the dark magic. Red splatters across his cheek, droplets falling from the hairs of his perfectly kept beard. Eyes glimmer with curiosity as a faerie is dangled from between his fingers. 

A crystal lowers from the angled orbit around the Magistrate’s head, and a shadow falls over the cherry blossom tree. Transparent mist swirls like midday clouds, a low rumble of a magic spell escaping under Dolios’s breath, followed by a cut off scream, scraping like a bell. 

When the shadow disappears, there is no faerie left. Only the magic, the power writhing through Dolios’s veins. The magistrate looks around, and for a moment Stress fears he knows they’re not real trees. But he steps over the corpses on the ground, faeries sapped of their power fading away into nothing. Not even a husk. 

The stolen magic disappears under Dolios’s golden hemmed sleeve, and his hands clasp behind his back. The husk monsters continue at the simple nod of his head. Leaving behind in his wake a bloodbath, and the ashes of what once were the fae of the Flowerfruit fields.


	31. Shadow Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc, Zed, and Scar have made their way to the city of Foresta, deep in the forests where animals are going missing and the nightmares grow worse daily. Meeting with a local shepherd, they find allies in the most unusual ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU was created by Red, the best coauther and friend. Check out her designs, ideas, and more at his tumblr [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

“Oh, yeah, watch it with the Zhenniao, their spit burns like mad.” Zedaph crows as he pets the soft white feathers of a Caladrius, the two having a conversation about their favorite seeds. 

“Uh… is this thing supposed to have three legs?” Scar leaps back, narrowly avoiding the corvid. He laughs though, and preens the beast’s wing. 

“Yep! Yatagarasu are born with two legs, but the third one grows when they learn to fly!” Zed sets the Caladrius back. As much as he loved the insightful debate he held with the bird, it’s not the kind of help they need. Besides, it would bring as much attention as an alicanto. “What about it, you three legged birdy? Want to join our team? Phoebe can teach you all the best ways to get letters to us- and the best places to peck at the hermits to get them to wake up.” 

“I swear to god I don’t want to have to build another eye.” Doc sets the acid spitting bird down, and waits for Zedaph to respond. But the blond hermit was always having a thousand different conversations at once. On their way here, he had a whole horde of forest creatures following him. 

The city of Foresta was open, patches of grass and trees older than the kingdom sprouting between houses and wide streets. Between the throngs of people, creatures of all shapes and sizes wandered down the dirt paths. Satori swing from the horns of a chimaera, leaping over the massive bodies that create the baku. Birds of all shapes, sizes, and different heads fly through the high canopy, fluttering to stop on the stone tower of the postal office. It’s here where the hermits are searching for another carrier bird. Poor Phoebe can’t do all the work herself, especially with so many hermits off hunting down reports.

And that was the other reason they were in the city of Flora and Fauna. Sent here to discover the whereabouts of missing familiars and family beasts. Carrier birds, farm beasts, even a family’s own cerberus have gone missing in the past few months. While Doc had his suspicions of their fate, Scar and Zedaph wanted to confirm his beliefs. 

“Alright, so that’s two more feathery friends added to the family.” The Zhenniao jumps from Zed’s shoulder, pulling on a tassel of Scar’s outfit. 

“I’m sure Grian will make fast friends with them, he already has Phoebe wrapped around his finger.” Scar chuckles, holding the bird close. “But what about the missing familiars? Did you get any information on who we could speak to?” 

“Actually, yes. A very talkative pegasus told me that a few streets down is where a whole herd of shleep went berserk a few days back.” 

Doc doesn’t waste another second. Marching down the street, eyes set on the direction Zedaph pointed. His gaze so intimidating, even a brigade of baccas part to stay out of his way. With one bird holding onto Zed’s hair, and another clasping Scar’s elongated ear, the other two give chase, Zed yelling turns to the marching beast that is Doc. He only halts in his tracks when he hears Zed yell “Stop! We’re here!” 

Screeching to a halt, Doc is left standing in an open field, sunlight blazing on the bright grass. Dotted with white patches of flowers, the pasture is empty. Unlike the busy city, even the parks in Foresta, this moorland was empty. 

Mostly empty. A young boy, laying beside a three headed sheepdog, is weaving dandelions into a flower crown. One for each head of his friend, and one for his own. Doc trains his mismatched eyes on the boy, and makes his presence known. 

Unfortunately for Doc, his presence is impending at best, downright terrifying at worst. The boy opens his eyes, and squeaks like a mouse at the sight of the hermit. He curls up, hands raised. “Please, just take my money I don’t got anything else!” 

“I’m not here to rob you.” Doc growls, rolling his eyes. Years of being a hardened criminal never really fades off his face. “Are you the shepherd?” 

“I’m sorry the shleep have been acting up lately! I don’t know how to make the nightmares stop, they’re still alarmed from the attack the other night.” The cerberus nuzzles one head beneath the boy’s arms, while the other two growl at the intruders. 

Until Zed steps up, a smile and a soft cooing voice turning one head from foe to friend. All it takes is one scratch of the ear, and he’s got the sheepdog wrapped around his finger. “That’s actually why we’re here. We came to help.” 

The boy lifts his head, looking at the unusual troupe. Two innocent, smiling faces surround the hardlined scowl of the hybrid hermit. Scar nudges Doc in the stomach, and the puppeteer sits to his knees. Looking much less impending when he’s not towering over the shepherd. “We heard that some unusual things have been happening in Foresta. Familiars going missing, pets getting lost left and right. Do you know anything of what’s causing that?” 

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Scar chuckles, plopping down next to the shepherd and beginning to weave his own flower crown. 

“I-Isaac.” He twists a blade of grass in between his fingers. “I...yeah, yeah I’ve seen a lot of it happen. When you’re a shleep herder, you see all manner of things happen in the night. But no one believes the boy who cries chupacabra. Or bakunawa, or ‘oh gods the neighbor’s cactus cat is suddenly an ash monster’!” 

“We’ll believe you. We came here just to hear those stories.” Scar chuckles. He looks over, and sees Doc’s expression start to soften, and the puppeteer reaches out to help Isaac finish the knot of his flower crown. Doc hates to admit it, but they all know he’s very good with kids. When he’s not being a hardass. “What have you seen?” 

“I...I’ve seen these critters, sneaking through the streets at night. All kinds of critters, actually, but...different from the normal. They look like they’re falling apart, like a cherry tree’s bark.” He runs his hands over his arms, attempting to find flakes of his own skin as proof. “They scare the shleep every night, and disappear into the city. And then I see more, and more. They drag other critters out of their homes and barns, and turn them into more flake monsters.” 

“Husks.” Doc whispers, his suspicions confirmed. Dark magic has even made it into the depths of the Evernight forest. But Isaac is hardly listening. Like any child, he has more story to tell. 

“The other night, those flake critters went after my herd. A chupacabra. But...I thought they never went after shleep! Shleep aren’t tasty- I don’t think so, at least. They’re all cosmic wool and gristle.” 

“Husks aren’t exactly looking for a tasty meal.” Zed whispers, “They’re looking for magic, and shleep are full of them.” He would know, he was once a shleep farmer when he was young. It’s how he honed his magic. 

“They come every night, stealing more critters. Soon, all that will be left is shleep causing nightmares and those husky things.” Isaac shakes his head. “Foresta won’t be much fun without all the critters here.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Us hermits are here to stop it.” Scar announces, grinning and tossing his short brown locks of hair over his shoulder. Trying to look as heroic as he sounds. 

The shepherd giggles. “Hermits? But you aren’t alone, you can’t be a hermit!” 

“Ask Hypno why we’re named that.” Doc laughs as well, even though he knows the story full well, it’s still funny every time someone points it out. “Don’t worry, kid. By the time we’re done here, you’ll all be having sweet dreams again.” 

“You’re the coolest bad guy ever.” Isaac whispers, and places the flower crown on Doc’s tangled mess of hair.

###### 

He refuses to take it off. Even as the sun falls and the city goes quiet, only nocturnal creatures lurking among the streets, he keeps his flower crown secure on his head. All three hermits watch the ruminants bleat and make their way around the town, cosmic wool spinning with stars and galaxies, entire worlds for their fur promising night rest. Wisps of the shleep’s fleece dance into the damp, warm air of Foresta. But it’s dancing in the air that the soft mist turns to harsh dust, slipping through open windows and under closed doors. Delivering nightmares to the people. 

In the distance, Scar frowns at the sound of someone crying. Waking up from the bad dream. It’s not the poor shleep’s fault, they can’t control their own magic. They’re just sleep sheep, it’s the husks that have them all bothered. If the hermits can stop the husks, the shleep can be happy again and the entire city can finally get a good night’s rest. 

Doc waves to Isaac, walking out with the last shleep from the pasture. Zedaph opens his eyes, blinking away the embers of magic. Oddly enough he feels the desire to chew grass now. The shleep are scared. Scared of the creatures that lurk in the dark, bodies lacking souls or even life. Just corpses- husks- forced to move by dark magic. One ram told Zed they were never afraid of the creatures of the night, their fellow nocturnal beasts, until that chupacabra turned on them. 

Doc and Zed share a quiet conversation about the information they’ve gathered, and Scar lays back in the grass. Watching leaves shadow the sky above him, stars twinkling in the same way they glimmered on the shleep’s coat. The distant titter of dyads among the trees, the soft hoots from various birds in the post office sound like music to Scar’s ears, and he closes his eyes to bask in the quiet night. Hunting dark magic isn’t that bad, if it leads to quiet, serene moments as well as exciting action. He feels himself dozing off, figuring that Doc or Zed will keep an eye out for some creepy dark beast. 

_He’s alone. Sitting up in a dark alleyway, the sound of yelling echoing from his parents’ silk shop. Something warm pools on his cheek, burning along his very namesake, mixing with saltwater. Scar raises a hand to try and staunch the blood, and discovers his hand is covered in mud, adorned with gemstone rings of gold._

_“You’re not a farm boy, Forest.” The words spit out in his father’s voice, but the lips that speak them are none other than the Magistrate’s. “Stop playing in dirt, this magic of yours is a disgrace as it is. You’re going to ruin the family image. And you’re clothes.”_

_“But I like my magic.” Scar whispers, turning his hand over. The mud changes color, dripping through his fingers into pools of blood._

_“You should have let your magic wither away, or better yet- give it to me.” Dolios grabs Scar’s wrist, dragging him into darkness._

Dragging him from his nightmare. But while Dolios was a dream, something tugging on his wrist was very real. Scar leaps to his feet, retreating from the creature that is pulling his bag from his clutches. “Hey, no that’s my stuff! My snacks!” 

Scar stumbles to his feet, kicking Doc on the way up. “What the hell Scar?” 

He doesn’t look back, chasing after the black furred monster. As dark as a husk, with white glowing eyes and all. He can’t see the creature’s form, just the illumination of white light from it’s eyes, Scar’s purple bag swinging from it’s mouth. He needs to catch up, get his stuff back. Rather than scooting around a fallen tree, he makes the ground rise from beneath him, flinging him over with a much less graceful landing. “Get back here you little cretin!” 

Behind Scar, Doc and Zedaph stumble through the forest. Tripping over roots and twisting their ankles in holes, they lose sight of the terraformer as moonlight is engulfed by the trees of the Evernight forest. The only light is the soft glow of bioluminescent mushrooms, moss, and leaves. At the interface between Foresta and the Evernight, the glow was indistinguishable. But Zed knows the deeper they go, the brighter the bioluminescence should get. 

But it never brightens. He continues to get caught in roots, eyes never finding enough light to see where he’s going. A stone halts Zed’s forward momentum, and he tumbles to the ground. “How can Scar keep up such a pace?” 

“Because he’s Scar, how does he do half the things he does?” Doc sighs, collapsing to his ass and looking around. The darkness of the forest is endless, leaves stitched together to be a roof that blocks out all light from the sky. He toes a mushroom, watching the fungi glow weakly. Shouldn’t it be brighter this far in? 

“Oh, Doc, look!” Zed slaps Doc on the shoulder, harder than he realizes, pointing in the direction opposite of where Scar went running.

“What, I can’t see shit.” Doc growls. 

“Perytons!” Zed crawls forward, light appearing under one arm. “They can help us, we just have to make friends with them! They’re very skittish cre-” 

In one swift motion, Doc casts his magic. In one blink, he’s watching Zedaph crawl through the mossy floor, the next he’s grazing on a nearby tree branch. The Peryton gave almost no resistance, and now Doc can control the beast. See through it’s night-adjusted eyes. Lo and behold, Zedaph looks stupid no matter what eyes are watching him. Zedaph sits up, pouting. “Well that’s no fun.” 

Doc can’t answer him, not while he’s in control of the Peryton. Stepping his hooved feet over Zedaph and fluttering iridescent green wings, he takes care of his own body standing still as a stone. One eye remains glassy, as if looking through a lens, but the red oculus of his other eye has disappeared completely. He can see the glow in the metal of his arm emanating from the deer creature, as he picks up his body with his rack of antlers and places it on his feathery back. 

By the time Doc has cared for his vulnerable physical form, Zedaph has cast his own spell. Such similar results, but completely different magic. Zedaph shepherded the mind of the creature into helping him- Doc just took full control. Either way, the two are able to follow the direction that Scar disappeared. Deeper into the forest, away from the city.

Zedaph notices that the bioluminescent of the Evernight Forest is missing, no matter how deep they go. The darkness remains, clinging to the branches and bark like a tapestry slung across the forest. He’s not even sure where Scar could be at this point- this wilderness expands on for thousands of hectares. 

Until he hears the spluttering mix of a laugh and a whimper, the noise so uniquely Scar that both Doc and Zed turn in the direction it arose from. Even through the eyes of the Peryton, it becomes almost impossible to see around them, darkness consuming everything around them. 

Because that’s what it is. Returning to his own body, Doc stumbles to his feet and rushes to light up a torch. A few paces ahead of him, Scar has trapped himself in a bramble bush, a tiny shadow fox dangling his bag just barely out of his reach. “Come on little guy, I’m sorry I mistook you for a husk. You’re cute, I promise! It’s just with your eyes and coat, you looked like a darkness monster.” 

“Need some help, or have you learned from Zed?” Doc snickers, pulling Scar from his thorny trap by the collar. The shadow fox chirps, ears turning to the side in joyful mischief. It approaches the hermits, dropping Scar’s bag at his feet. Glowing eyes, bright as sunshine, cast the shadow that creates the fox’s body. Zedaph can’t help but reach down to pet the shadow creature either way. 

“She guided us here. To...this.” Scar whispers, feeling the tension on his body already. The weight in his lungs, watching the light from the fox’s eyes and Doc’s torch be consumed by the black cluster of crystal. 

“This is what’s making the husks in Foresta. Just like in Gildara, it’s draining the forest.” All of the light, Limal’s creation with the goddess of death, vanishing as Dolios’s thirst for power drains the forest of life. Doc shakes his head. “We can’t let it continue. Scar, why don’t you…” 

Scar is gone again. Disappeared from between Zed and Doc, though not as far gone as before. Just a short distance away. Being attacked by another creature. This one, however, isn’t aiming for Scar’s bag like the thieving fox. 

It’s aiming for his throat, naked tail and matted fur thrashing and foam snarling from scraggly teeth. But unlike the shadow fox, the monster’s body is flaking and breaking apart with each movement, tufts of fur turning to smoke and ash. Zedaph sighs, more tired than before. “Great, now we got a ROUS to deal with as well as a creepy crystal.” 

“Massive rat first, please!” Scar cries, snapping his boots up and digging the spurs into the massive beast’s stomach. He rolls away, gnarled roots and dirt barricading him and the ROUS. 

Doc and Zed look at each other, then the ROUS before them, the darkness-crazed animal clawing through the barrier. It has a taste of Scar’s flesh, and he tastes sweet. Alive. Neither of their magic can work. There’s no soul to shepherd. Dark magic is already controlling the ROUS. They have to resort to another method. 

A much more combative, cutthroat method. One that Doc knows well. Grabbing the bone handle of his knife, dark metal and nicked, toothed edges of kaber blade pulling free of old leather. “Scar, can you try to pin it down?” 

“I'll add it to the list.” A startled squeak harmonizes with the viscous growl. The muzzle of the ROUS reels back, spittle glistening and falling from ivory white blades, and snaps. Scar rolls out of the way and slams his hands down on the ground once he’s been freed. The dirt erodes into sand and water, a pit of quicksand opening it’s maw beneath their feet. Scar scrabbles backwards, the mud water attempting to pull him in as well, gasping for air. With another wave of his hand, the ground resolidifies. The naked hands and feet of the enormous rodent are trapped in solid ground. 

Doc wastes no time. Freeing the body of the ROUS from the claws of darkness, his blade cuts through the empty body like he’s cutting fabric. The darkened for withers away into dust, and Zedaph kicks it away from the pile for good measure. 

The three boys sit on the silent, blighted forest floor. Ignoring the angry crystal, or the darkness consuming around them. Scar is panting like he ran a mile, Zedaph petting the soft shade ears of the fox that led them there, and Doc twirling his own knife. They just need a moment, a second to recollect themselves. Doc looks at his blade, forged in False’s fires. No matter what, no matter how strong a mage can be, sometimes they have to resort to the same tools as every other person. “Alright, enough sitting down. Let's put this crystal to ruin and let Isaac and his shleep finally get some peace.”


	32. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TFC, as the leader of the Guild of Hermits, has a job to do. But he also sees them as family, his sons and daughters. And sometimes young souls need to learn a thing or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red and I worked a lot on the thematic elements of this chapter, so please shower him with love for all the awesome help at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

Iskall can hardly hear his own teeth chatter against the howling wind from the mountain peak, his heavy breathing attempting to take in the cold, thin air at the top of the world. His words are tossed off the mountain as soon as he speaks them. “Why couldn’t we take the tunnels to the mines? It would be mega faster, TFC.” 

“I promised to the ZIT boys we’d deliver this to the Shrine of Natasiel.” TFC huffs, turning his head to look at the three youngsters following him. He trudges through the snow, fur lined boots and clothes bracing him from the cold winds. Iskall and Mumbo share similar thick down coats, but Cleo is still in the same overcoat and pantaloons as she’d wear at sea. She’s already dead, the cold doesn’t bother her.

Cleo growls, jumping off the path that TFC stumbles through. She trudges ahead of TFC, forging her own path through the snow. Despite hardly being able to see the ground five paces ahead of her, she continues forward on her own. “Where even is the Shrine?” 

“The top of the mountain, isn't it? I-I’m not sure, I’ve never gone here. But this weather...my word is it dangerous!” Mumbo stutters out his words, but he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t remember for sure or because he can feel his breath freezing in this throat. A heavy gust of wind catches on Mumbo and Cleo, sending the two stumbling towards the cliff face. If it weren't for TFC grabbing their collars, they’d be meeting Natasiel in person. 

“Nothing is as dangerous as me!” Iskall booms, raising his voice above the weather. “You can’t take me down, mountain! I am an S-Class nuclear mage, I take your nature and turn it on it’s head with my magic!” 

TFC shakes his head, continuing forward. In his frozen, gloved hands, he grips the tattered banner as tight as possible. He’s not losing such precious cargo entrusted to him. It’s time to lay them to rest, to give the guild long gone some peace. 

Zedaph handed the banner to TFC before they left, fingers tightening for a second before letting it go. “This belongs somewhere better than that bastard’s office. Can you take this to Hanshaa’s mirror? Let Natasiel take care of them.” 

Of course TFC took the banner, took the route to the tallest mountain in Lairyon. Mount Hanshaa, the crown to the Queen of Death. And at the peak, the Shrine of Natasiel. TFC has only been up here a few times before, to pray to Natasiel and thank her for her work. To protect those alive, and care for those who have moved on. 

And of course Iskall has to challenge everything. Whether it's a creature on the side of the road or the mountain itself, he can never back down from a challenge. TFC lets go of Mumbo and Cleo, and climbs higher into the sky. They’re almost there, he can already feel the soothing calm of Hanshaa’s Mirror. 

“I...I don’t think I can do this, TFC. I can hardly breathe, and it’s so cold. I’m not cut out for climbing this, or any, mountain.” Mumbo complains, hands shaking when they clasp onto the guildmaster’s. He hauls the newest member of the guild over the lip. Just one more face to climb, and they’ll be there. So close, and he wants to give up. Cleo, on the other hand, refuses his offer to help, her green skin digging through the ice, snow, and rock and pulling herself forward. 

“We’re almost there, Mumbo. You’ve already made it.” TFC breathes, lowering his voice as the wind lowers it’s howls. A sense of calm washes over TFC, watching the snow settle. “Just one more climb, I know you can do it.” 

Over the lip, and there on the peak. On top of the world, the Evershade mountains tumbling out beneath them. The winds are quiet, playing with flecks of snow and dancing down the mountain. Peace comes from the fierce bite of snow, and at the center of the peak, the Shrine of Natasiel sits. 

Despite it being well below freezing, the round pool has not a single vein of ice in it’s waters. Perfect and calm, not even snowflakes breaking the mirror. In the reflection and around Hanshaa’s mirror, the shrine opens. Multicolored flags flutter in the wind, stone statues resting beneath the pennants. Intricate carvings in stone and wood, offerings to Natasiel, poems of love and loss, food for friends and family, and blankets against the cold. At the center of the shrine, the guardian of Hanshaa stands. A stone monument, intricately carved feathers and fur of Natasiel’s griffin, with it’s head tucked and eyes closed, watching the world unfold before it and the shrine guarded by it’s gaze.

Sprouting from the snow and rock, against all odds of survival, delicate blue flowers glow in the low light of the snowstorm. Petals as thin as paper, bursting from the ice, opening their white pistils to the thin air. The rarest, the most beautiful flowers in all of Lairyon, fighting the harsh climate at the top of the world, growing around the goddess of the dead’s shrine. Finding life in the cold, the death, rising in the meditative peace at the water’s edge.

A calm and quiet washes over TFC, Mumbo and Cleo. But Iskall finds no sense of reverence upon seeing the shrine. He does notice the flowers, and stoops down low. Fingers wrapping around the slight stem, gripping and tugging on the hardy plant. Silence is broken by a loud, harsh shout that nearly teeters Iskall off the edge. “Don’t pick it!” 

It’s TFC, one hand crossing Iskall’s torso and pushing him back, the other still gripping the tattered banner. The snap was severe, but not aggressive. Enough to make Iskall stop, but not enough to scare him. “Why not dude? It’s just one itty bitty flower among hundreds.” 

TFC lets go of Iskall’s arm, turning back to the griffin statue. Open eyes watching them as the guildmaster kneels in the snow. He gazes at the old banner, the embroidered symbol frayed and color faded. A guild long gone, murdered for power. Massacred for control. He’s here to lay them to rest, to give Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango the peace they deserve. “It’s not about that.” He whispers, looking over his shoulder and boring his gaze into Iskall like a mole in the dirt. “It’s about respect.” 

Iskall steps back, his foot scraping off the ledge of the mountain. His heart leaps into his throat, the wind picking up just enough to cause him to teeter. Just one gust, and he’d be plummeting to the earth. Falling from the top of the world, and no way to stop it. No one can fight gravity- even Grian will eventually plummet if he doesn’t counteract it. In that heart pounding moment, no way to stop a gust of wind from sending him over, he realizes that there's one thing he cannot fight. He cannot challenge. Life and death, and that thin line between it. He has to respect that.

And he has to respect life and death. Especially in the presence of Natasiel’s shrine, the goddess of death’s realm so close. The wind dies down and Iskall can regain his footing. He stumbles forward, away from the mountainside, side stepping from the flowers and sitting beside TFC. All four hermits take in the silence, the sound of the strung flags flying in the wind the only commentary to the world. It’s an eerily calm silence, a reverence and connection to those who passed on. Iskal looks down at the banner, ZIT’s first family destroyed by Dolios. He may not be able to challenge life and death, but he will challenge dark magic. And win. “Can...can I put it up?” 

TFC raises an eyebrow, but when his eyes lock with Iskall’s, he can only see respect glimmering back in his green eye. Even the blue jewel shines with the same calm TFC feels in his body. He offers the ensign to Iskall, who picks it up as gently as he would an unstable rod of iskallium. Fingers tight enough to keep from losing the fabric, but laid out between his arms. 

He stands, walking past the pool, watching the water reflect the sky and himself. Careful not to step on a single flower, he approaches the guardian of Hanshaa’s Mirror. The guardian of the shrine, protector to the entrance of the underworld, Natasiel’s griffin companion. Strong, stony eyes watch Iskall as he approaches, climbing up the podium and avoiding the precarious rock cairns stacked around the statue. A cold brush of wind causes Iskall to shiver, fingers sapped of heat by the stone statue. 

“It’s mega cold up here, but you still keep watch.” Iskall wraps the banner around the stone statue’s neck. He folds the insignia out for all to see, and knots the tattered ends together. “Watch over them, for our friends. They’ll keep you warm.” 

He steps back, watching the gold and blue press against the stone, blocking out the wind. Behind him, he hears Mumbo sniffle, tears freezing on his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes. TFC reaches out, patting Iskall on the back. His son, if not by blood then by guild. And a soft expulsion of breath escapes Cleo, mist dazzling in the air. “I can feel souls here...they’re at peace. It’s so calm, so content.” 

They remain in silence for a little longer. Just taking in their time at the top of the world, in between life and death, at the shrine to the goddess of death. Watching the glassy pool, the snow drifting in the air and waltzing through the flowers. TFC stood first, one hand over his heart and whispering thanks to the guardian before turning around, eyeing the descent they must make now. Mumbo stands beside him, tucking his fingers under the pits of his arm. “I can’t believe we climbed all of that to make it here.” 

“You have more strength than you give yourself credit for, Mumbo. You climbed the tallest mountain in Lairyon, you are one of the strongest mages I’ve ever met. Just because a task seems daunting, you shouldn’t doubt yourself. You are more than the sum of your parts, Mumbo Jumbo.” TFC glances over his shoulder to the others, then begins his descent. And all but Cleo accept his help.

###### 

From the tallest peaks of Lairyon, to the depths of the kingdom are where the group find themselves next. Swallowed whole by the mouth of the Golden Hearth mines, they follow a set of hastily drawn directions marked on a scrap of leather. The dwarven miner they had interviewed was more interested in returning to his mining than telling a bunch of mages where they noticed missing gems. 

And for the first time ever, the hermits see TFC lose his parental demeanor. He’s a kid in the candy store, bouncing from deposit to deposit. He pulls free a chunk of amethyst, admiring the deep purple hue with glittering excitement in his eyes. The deeper they go, passing miners and other mages connected to the earth, he can’t help but pick up a pickaxe of his own and mine out a few crystals to add to his collection. Kyanite as dark as an unlit cave, pyrite that lusters against the illuminating energy from an iskallium rod.

Cleo strides ahead, plucking a torch from the wall. “This way. Come on, we have to find Esten’s Spring.” 

“Hold up, Cleo, take a breather.” TFC pauses, grabbing at her shoulder and forcing her to stop. She can’t keep running through the mines this way. “Esten’s Spring is deep, one of the deepest parts of the mine. It’s hardly been explored, and the underground river leaves it unstable.” None of them know how to explore caves like TFC does. They didn’t grow up playing in caves, didn’t spend their early years mapping out the crystal mines. They can’t read the seams in the stone, the rolling of rockfalls. 

Cleo raises the fire, distracted by the ores and geodes that gleam against the light for a second before returning to her trailblazing. She doesn’t need anyone’s help but herself, she is strong and clever. She knows the way all by herself. She’s independent, even in a group. She’s the captain of her own ship.

The narrow passage opens up to a deep, yawning chasm with only a broken wooden bridge to cross the immense drop. Cleo looks over the edge, biting her lip as she notices sharp stalagmites piercing through the darkness, teeth of some ancient stone beast waiting to swallow an unsuspecting miner whole.

Beside her, TFC hums. “Let me rifle through my bag, see if-” 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Cleo strikes her saber between a stone pillar and the ground, tipping it forward and pressing a magic circle against the stone. The rock erodes, decaying to sand at her fingertips, and with one swift yank of her blade it falls across the canyon. She flashes a smile over her shoulder, and struts across the bridge. 

She got lucky, TFC knows that. She did that all on herself, but had the rock fallen the other way, they all could have been crushed. She could have hurt herself. As strong as she is, no mortal can withstand the crushing blow of the very earth itself. But Cleo just keeps moving, on her own journey deeper into the caves. 

Whether crawling through gaps, jumping across chasms, or skirting across ledges, Cleo was always ahead of the others, doing things her own way, and refusing help. She doesn’t need help. She’s strong, she doesn’t need anyone’s help. 

TFC stops, hearing the sound of water dripping through the teeth that rise from the ground and fall from the ceiling. He clambers through the mouth, stepping between the stalagmites and into the open well. “Here we are. Esten’s Spring.” 

For a moment, the only light within the cave is the luminescent rocks, a soft glow that ricochets across the smooth stone, casting shadows along the walls and turning the cavern ceiling into a reflection of colors. Arches and ledges run along the side of an underground river, crystals beneath the water illuminating and rippling all around them. 

To any person, Esten’s Spring was a godly sight. Gems as tall as buildings and wide as tarasques growing from the earth. But for a mage like TFC, who’s magic draws from the earth and it’s shimmering gifts, it was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Rare stones buried deep in the belly of the earth, all collected together and growing in one mutually exclusive place. Stones that would never be seen in any other place at once, all here. But with such beauty also comes danger. “Watch your step, hermits. The ground is unstable.” 

Cleo hardly hears TFC’s warning. She’s already charging ahead, like a ship into battle. She notices a mar in the earth, dirt overturned and scraped aside. And the rusty, dusted ground turned grey like ash. “He’s been gathering them from here.” 

Dolios was here. Multiple times, if the marks and stains of darkness were any indication. All across Esten’s Spring, the ground has been uprooted, entire clusters of crystals missing from their perches. Of course he would create the crystals here. In the depths of the mines, the dangerous passage deterring even the bravest miner from wantonly exploring this deep. And here, among the rarest, strongest crystals in all of Lairyon. They were ripe for his corruption, and for TFC to know he’s stolen them from here is heartbreaking. 

“He has no respect.” TFC grumbles, picking up a broken quartz stone. Spared from the staining of dark magic, left shattered on the ground. He takes without remorse, without respect for the mountains or the land. Mining isn’t just about taking. It’s about giving back as well. Thanking Lairyon and the Earth god, Esten, for such amazing creations. He feels Iskall’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, a knowing gaze on the mismatched eyes. Even Iskall knows to respect nature now.

“To think, we’ve gone to the highest peaks and the deepest abysses, and no matter where we go, his darkness still follows.” Mumbo breathes. To think that he’s made it to both places, he’s still not entirely sure how. It’s like TFC said, he has to believe in himself, even when he thinks he couldn’t do it. 

Cleo’s shoes skitter as the ground beneath her feet collapses, the lip of the ledge falling into the underground river. She doesn’t have time to deal with the past, and whatever the boys are up to. If they hope to stop Dolios, they need to cut off his supply of crystals. Stop him from making more, and for TFC to round up more crystals to use in his spells. 

A dim corner catches her attention. All along the cavern, shadows are cast from stalagmites and stalactites. But the purples, greens, blues, yellows, and reds of the incandescent crystals turn even the darkest corners into a misty glow. But down a passageway, one place is devoid of all light. As if the rock swallowed it whole. 

Or the crystal within it. Cleo scrabbles across an arch, careening off the rock wall and ignoring the light shower of stone dust in her hair as she comes face to face with the gemstone. It’s taller than her, the faceted edges a milky white, rising like a tower with thin lines perpendicular to the ground. Except for the peak of the tower, which was darker than night. Night still has light, color, whether from the moon or the stars. This is pure darkness, empty of all color, all light. 

Dark magic. Dolios must have been trying to corrupt this gem, to use it to siphon magic like the crystal in Gildara, at the championship. “Cleo? Where’d you run off to now?”  
She turns, slapping her hand against the crystal. “I found one in the works!” She yells, her voice making droplets of water fall from the cavern ceiling. “I can take care of this myself.” 

TFC looks up, eyes following Cleo’s bright orange hair, the white crystal, and the cave wall that it rests against. And he sees the seam in the rocks, the thin planes of stone on the precipice of gravity. The soft shower of dirt, sprinkling like pixie dust in her locks. The dust turns to pebbles, pebbles to rocks. “Cleo, look out!” 

The cavern roof collapses inward, and TFC has less than a second to react. His hand is already digging into the depths of his bag, pulling out a jasper and clasping it in his gloves. By the time the rocks have turned to boulders, he’s already summoned his magic and is casting the spell. He pushes his hand forward, and Cleo stumbles back. 

His last sight of her is that bright red hair, pale green skin and fear written across her face. Boulders ricochet into a pile, cutting Cleo off from the rest of the hermits. Mixed with the clattering of rock, the soft sound of bone cracking and skin scraping. Iskall and Mumbo race forward, but TFC grabs them both. 

“We have to help her! She could be buried!” Iskall howls, fighting against TFC. 

“Hold on! The rockfall is still unstable.” He huffs. It kills TFC to have to wait as well, but rushing in will only lead to more disaster. “C-Cleo, can you hear me?” 

“I can hear you! There’s a boulder, it’s pinned me to the ground.” A soft chuckle escapes, but it’s strained and high pitched. “Better my leg than the rest of me.” 

TFC steps forward, brushing past Mumbo and Iskall. One of which is about to succumb to his nervous jelly knees, the other racing alongside their guildmaster. “Just stay calm, Cleo, we’ll get you out of-”

“I can do it myself!” Her voice snaps through the stone wall. “I don’t need to wait if I just-” 

“Cleo no!” The rockfall shifts, growing thicker. Boulders roll towards the boys, and a stifled yelp can be heard through the cracks. 

“S-see? I freed my leg. Now I...now I just need to break this wall.” 

“Stop, Cleo! You’re going to hurt yourself.” TFC’s voice is strong, but soft enough to make Cleo pause. “Let us help.” 

“I don’t need your help! I’m strong enough on my own!” TFC and Iskall leap backwards, a boulder narrowly crushing them both. 

“But true strength is knowing when to reach out for help instead of letting it destroy you!” TFC shouts, his voice echoing across Esten’s Well, causing droplets to fall from stalagmites and ripple across the underground river. His harsh breath is the only voice, and TFC brushes back his hair, his braid. “Cleo, you’re one of the strongest hermits in all of the guild. We all know that. How many other of us are literally too strong for death to hold us back? But sometimes there are things that can’t be done alone. No one is stronger than the mountains themselves. It takes an army of dwarven miners to take on the earth. Each one of them strong on their own, but stronger together. Let us help you, let your family help you.” 

Silence fills the cave, thick and hot against the stale air of the deep chasm. TFC’s ears prick at the sound of fabric shuffling through the wall of boulders. His shoulders fall, believing that Cleo is attempting to do it on her own again. That is, until her voice calls out. “I will come back as a ghost if you three crush me. I will come back and break your legs.” 

Iskall grins, neon green magic reflecting off the glittering gem for his eye, meeting Mumbo’s worried expression. And together, with Cleo’s commands, they free her from the stone tomb. As Mumbo clasps Cleo’s hand and helps her stand, TFC notices a pale blue gem laying at his feet. Stooping low, he picks up the crystal. Iskall peeks over his shoulder, seeing the rock. “Whatcha got there, T?” 

“I’ve never seen blue moon quartz in my life. Guess Esten hid it from Dolios.” TFC chuckles, and pockets it. “Let’s get back to the surface before his blessing turns to a curse.”


	33. Chaos in the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a successful battle against more of Dolios’s dark forces, Ren, Tango, Impulse, and False take a much needed break to enjoy Edenswell, the city in the sky. Little do they know, their peace will soon be shattered by death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au, all the designs, and MANY of the ideas are all thanks to my coauthor, Red! Checkem out at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

The temple of Tyn was a haven of truth, the quiet whispers of candor mixing with the swift whisks of shuttles crossing the tapestries. Woven stories, facts and history written where no lie can ever be told. Finished panels hang from the wooden pillars, waving gently in the high winds of Edenswell. All is well, all is silent, truthful. Sincere. 

Until Impulse goes crashing through the main hall, splinters of wood spraying across the worshippers and weavers. From the broken pillar, a thunderbird perches, empty lightning coursing through ashen wings. If it weren’t the patches of husked feathers falling off in clumps and the burning white eyes, it would look like it’s usual stormcloud color. 

But the husk beast leaps down, talons scraping against the wood, it’s squawk as loud as thunder. Impulse shakes his head, shaking free from the dizzy spell and plucking a splinter as big as his finger from his hair. Through the dancing tapestries, the hermit can see False, Tango, and Ren stumble after the monster. He rises to his feet, offering a grin to a nearby priest. “I totally don’t have this under control.” 

He didn’t mean to say that. But the words that were on the tip of his tongue came out as what he was thinking. Damn truth spells, his words have done little except make the pilgrims feel worse! Impulse offers a meek smile, and hops over the husked thunderbird, a well-timed explosion tossing him over the enormous bird’s head. 

Ren’s hands cross, fingers symmetrical before snapping outwards, twisting and turning to summon his magic. “Let’s get this little birdy wrangled up, y’all.” 

With a chuckle, Ren casts his magic. The circle tightens, trails weaving into a braided rope. Just as he imagined, a lasso appears in his hand. Beside him, False calls out orders. Like the general of an army. “Tango, Impulse, keep it distracted for Ren!” 

“Hey Impy, think it’ll taste like chicken?” Tango laughs, fire blazing around him. He taps his heel against the cloud beneath his feet, and condensed water burns into steam, the floor falling away from the thunderbird. Together, the two keep the bird preoccupied, completely oblivious to the spinning rope of Ren’s lasso. 

Of all the cities the hermits thought would be safe from Dolios and his dark magic, surely the city in the sky would be. But the reports of unrelenting storms and flocks of broken-winged birds led them straight to the crystal. Nestled in the heart of a hot spring spa, in the depths of the clouds and open to the sky, False and Ren managed to destroy the corrupted crystal. But not before this thunderbird discovered them, and attacked with the strength of a hurricane. 

“I think he’s mad he didn’t do his job! Protect the crystal, kill any nosy townsfolk.” Impulse chuckles, snapping his fingers and blasting the flank of the bird. Ash of the husked form collapses, head rearing back and lightning crackling under the wings and feathers. Generated by the beat of the beast’s wings. But before it can release it’s thunderous caw, matched with the bolt of lightning, amber magic twists and wraps across the thunderbird’s beak. 

“Got’em, boys! False?” Ren grins, digging his heels into the cloud vapor. HIs ears tuck against his head, fur meeting hair as he struggles to keep the eagle from escaping into the sky. What Ren wouldn’t give for a buff from Wels right now. 

False doesn’t hesitate. She never does. She leaps onto the back of the bird, heels digging between feathers and flakes of the soulless, lifeless body, and raises her blade. The rippling metal turns bright red. As hot as freshly forged metal waiting to be doused in oil. Without wasting another second, she cuts the husk down. 

The form beneath her feet crumbles like fall leaves, ash and embers picked up by the winds of the cloud city, with False left to collapse onto the ground. For a place built in the clouds, her ass feels anything but cushioned. 

But she’s grinning all the same, accepting Tango’s hand to help her up and elbowing Ren in the stomach. “One less creepy beast in the world. And one more crystal in the books.” 

“I’d say we earned ourselves some rest and relaxation. Edenswell does have some of the best spas and retreats in Lairyon.” False lets her sword clatter to the cloud, pulling a hand through her hair and the clumps of blood and dirt from her locks. 

“I dunno about a spa, but I saw the Festival of Mimé is going on, and I wanna have some fun while we’re up here with our heads in the clouds.” Tango points out, which causes Impulse’s eyes to light up. 

“The festival of Mimé? That’s the biggest fireworks showcase in the kingdom! They have a contest every year to see who can do the best exhibition, and I’ve always wanted to see it.” Impulse has already turned towards the sound of music and celebration, in honor of the god of joy.

“Why not just watch it if you can join it, my dude?” Ren points out, stretching aching muscles, hands over his head and pulling them taut. Both Tango and Impulse stop dead in their tracks, and False only groans from her spot on the ground. 

“Ren, you mad genius. We’re going to blow that contest away. Literally.” Impulse’s toothy grin appears, matching his friend’s. False finally rises up, shaking her head. 

“You guys are adults, you do what you want. Just...don’t burn down the damned city.” False waves them off, and goes in search of somewhere peaceful to rest and recuperate. She could use some healing as well. That thunderbird did a number in battle. Ren, Impulse, and Tango are left to their own devices. 

A dangerous thing. The three clamber over one another to be the first at the entrance to Mimé’s temple. At the mouth of the open courtyard, color blossoms across the grass in flowers, flags, and festivities. Kids run past dragging kites and blowing pinwheels, while adults are celebrating with their own joyous creations. As soon as the hermits are through the archway, flower crowns have been set upon their head. Impulse even managed to find ones that wouldn’t catch fire upon Tango’s hot head. Music and dancing fills the open air, surrounded by brightly colored food and even brighter laughter and crafts. 

Ren lets loose a low whisper. “Guess Mimé and Blumiere share one thing in common- creativity is joyous.” 

“We’re going to wake the ancient ones with our joyous fireworks show.” Tango grins, searching for the contest. But he notices another pageant going on. “Hey, Ren, look. A pet agility course.” 

Ren rolls his eyes, but his tail wags without his consent at the idea of running it. “I’m an imagination mage, not a dog. It was one mixup.” 

“One mix up that left you with ears, a tail, and a joy to chase carts.” Impulse snickers. “Come on, RenDog, you’d be the most handsome dog in the whole pageant. And the fastest.” 

“What’s the harm? It’s all good fun, Mimé would want that. I dare you.” Tango’s words are all that Ren needs to hear, and the mage plods off to join the pet parade.

Tango and Impulse waste no time getting to work. A hellbound mage and an explosions wizard, teaming up to make the best fireworks ever seen by the entire kingdom.Mixing together all colors, all patterns, daring to go bigger and better than any other contestant, it’s Tango’s wild ideas and Impulse’s refined magic that allows them to slowly tune towards perfection. 

But not without a few mistakes along the way. Their first attempt at a spectacular sight turned into a show fit for ants, not for gods. And there aren’t even ants in Edenswell- it’s a city in the clouds, for Stratis’s sake. 

The next mistake was loud enough that even False heard it from the hero’s spring baths that healed her wounds. She peeked one eye open, seeing yellow and red blossoming in the open roof of the Hero's baths. She only sinks lower into the azure waters, shaking her head. They’re adults, she doesn’t always need to run in and be the S-Class mage. She’s going to enjoy this rest, dammit. 

After trial and error, error and trial, night falls on Edenswell and the fireworks shows begin. Sound mages ease the explosions to sensitive ears, allowing music to swell with the colors that blossom in the sky. Sincere shows, wishes in the sky, and large extravaganzas dazzle the crowd and illuminate the air in place of the sun. 

Tango and Impulse are last to show, and with each entry before them, they get more excited. Tango just wants to snap his fingers and light it up now, so everyone can see all the hard work they did. Ren disappeared hours ago, and they’ve only caught glimpses of his brown ears or colorful outfit since then. But at least False arrives just in time for the show. “Where’d you lose Ren?”

The two shrug, noticing that her wounds from this morning’s battles have already faded to scars and False looks more refreshed, ready to battle than ever. Whoever duels her next better watch out. “He joined the pet party or whatever. Seems like he was having a good time last we saw.” 

Tango laughs at Impulse’s words, still in disbelief their friend actually crashed a pet show. But that’s Ren for them, wild and innovative, and never backing down from a dare. “You ready to see the biggest, best, most awesome and perfect fireworks-ification you’ve ever had the honor to lay eyes on?” 

“I’m ready to see whatever it is you two have created.” False steps back, materializing a large shield, the blade pointed out and disk protecting her chest. “From a protected and safe distance away. I’m not making another cannon mistake.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Tango grins, and snaps his fingers. Fire erupts at the base, dancing along an intricate, twisting sequence that False can only compare to Mumbo’s redstone lines. Fireworks blast off into the sky, dancing in spinning circles and straight lines, set off at the perfect time that when they explode, they paint the dark night with colors that twist and dance, intricate patterns flowing in seamless design. Music swells with the dazzling paint, the musicians inspired by the incredible sight before them. False is mesmerized, feeling the purples and blues and greens and whites light up on her face, the joy of watching such a show reminding her what it means to be a hermit. To see her friends create, to see the beauty of unrestrained magic. 

The finale blows the sky open with every color of the rainbow and then some, illuminating the entire city, but even under the crescending music False hears Tango and Impulse curse at the same time. The colors fade into streaks of light, embers falling to the city like a meteor shower. False shakes her head, realizing at some point in the show she put her shield down. She was too enamored by the fireworks. “Okay, I’ll admit- that was fantastic.” 

“But it wasn’t perfect.” Tango grumbles. “We messed up the pattern in the grand finale.” 

Ren bowls into the three, tail wagging and eyes alight. “Dudes, I could tell that was your fireworks, that was the coolest thing ever! Mimé must be stoked, he probably hasn’t seen something that epic since the ancients!”

“No, it really wasn’t.” Impulse kicks the ground. “We fucked up the end, it’s not what we imagined.”

There’s a loud thwap, sparks flying from Tango’s head while Impulse hisses, rubbing the crown of his brown hair. “That was the most incredible fireworks show i ever saw. You two are gifted with explosions- that I already know- and that was badass. Even if it wasn’t what you imagined, I thought it was beautiful. Because it was you two’s work, your heart and soul, even your mistake was a part of you guys.” 

“False is spitting truth, bros.” Ren adds, nodding his head. “That was so cool, you guys made your idea come to life! Wasn’t it fun making it?” 

Tango and Impulse pause, looking at the sizzling remains of their fireworks. The ash stained grass, a few chunks missing from the cloudcover. And they laugh. “It definitely was a blast.” Impulse croons. “I hope Mimé thought that was as cool as it was to make.” 

“I definitely think it was a joy to watch.” False hums. She rolls her shoulders, eyes roving across the festival. People’s eyes sparkle, conversations and fingers pointed towards the sky. “And I think others feel the same way. Congrats, hermits. No only did we save the day, you guys made it a little bit brighter here as well.” 

“And I won best in show!” Ren chuckles, showing off his medal. The others laugh, and he tucks it away. “None of you guys tell the others about this.” 

“No, we’re telling everyone.” False snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! A rare end note from Avon! 
> 
> This chapter is full of fluff and fun- mostly because next chapter is going to be the exact opposite. Make everythign good then destroy it >:D 
> 
> tags will be changing to reflect new instances upon next week


	34. One For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The architechs face their most dangerous battle yet, alone against the magistrate himself.
> 
> And not all survive.
> 
> **Warning: This chapter depicts major character death (temporary), violence, blood, impalement, and other dark themes. Please continue with caution.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha have fun with this one kiddos!
> 
> This AU, the designs, and many of the ideas (including this one, thank Red for the angst XD) is by my coauthor Red! Check him out at [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

“Mumbo? Mumbo wake _up_.” Grian hisses, his wings puffing up at the sound he hears in the distance. Iskall has already run out of the tent the architechs were in, going in search of the noise. But nothing can muster consciousness from his best friend, and unfortunately Grian must resort to ulterior measures.

He drags Mumbo’s bedroll out of the tent, clambering to hold the limp form. And takes off into the air. The sudden jolt skyward does wake Mumbo up, and he sheds his bedroll like a butterfly from it’s cocoon. “G-Grian, put me down! This wasn’t funny the first time, it’s not funny now!” 

“Maybe if you weren't’ such a spoon and wake up this wouldn’t happen. Iskall and I heard something. It was getting closer, so he went to look.” Grian chuckles, and can’t help but give Mumbo another scare. He lets go of the multi-mage, but only for a second. Less than that, before he grabs hold of Mumbo by the pits. His cackle is only as loud as Mumbo’s scream, and they both return to the ground. 

The nice, safe, hard ground. Mumbo is still trying to reclaim his heartbeat, though the sound of lightning crashing nearby does little to help. A second later, Iskall runs from the brush of the forest. “It’s a husk, a nue.” 

As if in response to Iskall’s words, an eerie cry bounces off the bark and through the canopy. All three architechs are attracted to the bonechilling noise, the magic of the beast calling them closer. “We have to find it- there has to to be a reason a husk would be here.” Grian states, picking up the pace, following the noise through the forest. Leading him deeper. “Maybe there’s a crystal, or something that Dolios is doing here.” 

Iskall chases after Grian, after the noise, and Mumbo stumbles after them, taking up the rear. Sometimes he catches just a glimpse of the beast, the grey and black stripes or the snake tail passing between brambles and bushes. He can’t stop himself from following the beast, the whimpering cry luring them all deeper and deeper into the woods.Until the trees part, and the moonless sky opens up.

And sitting in the center of the clearing, an enormous, ebony gem eeks it’s black tendrils into the verdant grass. Iskall peers into the darkness, noting how little the crystal has spread the dark magic. “It’s brand new. It was just placed here.” 

“Perhaps the nue was it’s first victim.” Mumbo shakes his head. 

“Or it was sent with the crystal to protect it as it made root.” Grian adds, stepping forward. His wings ruffle, the feeling of being watched a second too late. 

“Neither, as a matter of fact. It was purely to lure you in.” His voice is so clear, so crisp, running ice down their spines. They turn, eyes settling on Magistrate Dolios and his charismatic, calm smile. He’s sitting on a rock, resting against the boulder like it’s a throne, cheek pressed against the palm of his hand and legs crossed. He almost looks bored, would it not be for the easy smile, the hunger in his eyes. The nue appears beside the magistrate, smoke and ash billowing from the fragmented figure. Dolios reaches out, fingers running from the glowing white eyes of the monkey head, running down the spine, before twisting the cobra tail between his fingers. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A fresh crystal, ready to gather as much magic as it can hold.”

Iskall summons his magic, iskallium energy ricocheting up his arm as he stands ready for battle. “I’m going to destroy that crystal. Then, we’ll destroy you.” 

Dolios’s smile never fades, even as he shakes his head. “You never stop, do you? These past few weeks, you and your band of heathens have been going all over Lairyon, destroying all my hard work. These crystals are important to me, you know. I can’t just replace every last one in the blink of an eye. It takes time.” Dolios stands, striding past the three. The purple fabric of his robes dance along the grass, sauntering to stand before the crystal. “But I’m quite proud of this one. It took me weeks, and you get the honor of being the first people to see it work.” 

Mist swirls from the stone, then strikes out. Like whips, they bend around their master, who continues to smile with his hands tucked behind his back. Grian bowls to the side, knocking Mumbo out of the way before the magic can take hold. Iskall lets loose the ball of energy, sending it flying into the mist. Dispersing it, and crashing into the crystal. Another attack, this time with Grian warding off the magic. In a heavy beat of his wings, slashing the air with wind, he skips above Dolios and the gem, flanking him from the side. 

Dolios shakes his head, not focused on Grian or Iskall. His eyes remain trained on Mumbo, who’s struggling just to summon his magic. “So much magic, wasted in such a pathetic form. You don’t even know what to do with it all. I don’t need your magic- just the power.” He looks over his shoulder, stepping aside when another sheer wind threatens to even ruin his hair. “The angel, on the other hand. What I wouldn't give for his magic in my repertoire.” 

“You’re no multi-mage!” Iskall shouts, throwing a rod of iskallium at Dolios’s feet. Giving Mumbo a second to flee, to focus on his magic. “You’re just a mega thief of doom!” 

“Quite the hyperbolic speech, young man.” Dolios snickers, grabbing Iskall by the arm with nothing more than his mind. No matter how hard iskall fights, he can’t get free. “An S-Class of your caliber is quite enticing as well. This whole team you’ve got is stronger than most of those idiots that call themselves the Council.” 

Iskall continues to fight for his freedom, while Grian is battling off the mist that threatens to engulf his friend. Dolios is so focused on capturing Grian, on draining Iskall’s lifeforce that he’s completely ignored Mumbo. Why would he bother? Mumbo can’t even summon his magic at will. 

But if there’s one way to bring Mumbo’s powers to fruition, it’s hurt his friends. Black mist squeezes past the winds that flow from Grian’s wings, striking through Iskall like an arrow through the chest. Iskall stumbles, skin growing grey and pale, flaky. He continues to fight through the pain, despite his strength being sapped. 

Mumbo’s shaking hands go through the motions of summoning his magic. Palms out, coming together and fingers blooming like a flower- or a redstone circuit. Driving his magic from within, organizing it in a way he can control, until the circle glows bright and lightning appears in his hands. 

No one hurts Mumbo’s friends. He gives Dolios a taste of his own medicine, sending the bolt of lightning straight into his chest. Dolios stumbles backwards. Red appears beneath the blue capelet, burn marks and blood crawling from the magistrate’s neck. He turns, eyes boring into Mumbo’s soul, and for a second Mumbo worries if Dolios can drain his power just by looking at him- like a gorgon or something. Dolios only chuckles, brushing his hand and waving the mist away. “I knew it was in there somewhere. You’re just too weak and naive to find true power. Unlike me.” Dolios summons his circle, dark magic coursing through each skittering line and curve. “Don’t make me waste my time on you, I still have to steal the angel’s magic. Just become a good, useful husk alongside your fri-” 

The sound of cracking silences Dolios. The magic circle disappears, the magistrate whipping his curly ponytail around to see what is going on behind him. 

He was so busy berating Mumbo, he didn’t notice Grian and Iskall. Despite Iskall’s weakened state, looking almost husklike, the two S-Class wizards pool together their magic, and launch it into the iskallium spike thrust into the core of the gem. 

It shatters to pieces, fragments raining down over Mumbo and Dolios. The dark magic fizzles and dies, the energy stored in the gem returning to the earth. Where it belongs, rather than trapped in Dolios’s machinations. 

But with each crystal fading back to it’s milky quartz color, the magistrate’s eyes grow darker. An anger fills his eyes, turning his smile into a sneer, lips curling and bearing perfect white teeth. Iskall laughs, whooping and dancing. He already feels so much better, the rosy color returning to his cheeks and the brown of his beard flourishing. “Take that, creep!”

Dolios stares at the broken crystal, then drags his gaze to the architechs. “Do you know how long that took me to corrupt? And you two cretins destroy it on it’s maiden voyage?” He chuckles and closes his eyes. Sts a hand against the sun-shaped clasp at his throat. “I’ll admit, there’s more power in you than I thought, Iskall. Your strength would have been so filling for me and my creation, you’d make such a good husk. Shame I have to kill you now.” 

His eyes snap open, the hungry fervor for blood filling the ambered blue eyes. A predator stalking it’s prey, cornering it for the final blow. His smile holds no joy, none of the calm, charming light it masked the monster with. Now it was a cold snarl, teeth baring for his quarry.

Without a snap or a wave of his hand, Dolios’s circle appears and is cast. Power surges around the magistrate. He crosses the length of the clearing in two long strides. Grabbing Iskall by the collar and pinning him against a tree. “Why don’t you just hang awhile, Iskall?” 

Dolios steps back, a branch has grown through Iskall. Bloodsoaked leaves and wood snagged through clothes. Iskall no longer struggles. He no longer spits curses or taunts. His head is limp, eyes closed.

Horror is written across Mumbo and Grian’s face. They knew Dolios was a murderer, a monster that was leading all of Lairyon behind a veil of prosperity, but to see it in action…

And he wasn’t done. He turns, and advances towards Mumbo. Grian tries to stop him, blowing gale force wind, but Dolios raises his hand. The blades of grass grow, forming a wall between him and Grian. Not even the feather shaped throwing knives could penetrate the greenery. 

A scream echoes the clearing.

Then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. From behind the grassy screen, Dolios steps over a limp hand, redstone mixed with blood. The grass shrivels and dies, revealing Mumbo’s body. Despite the blood on his throat, Mumbo’s mustache was still perfectly combed. “Mumbo?” Grian whimpers, “Mumbo wake _up_.”

A weak whimper escapes Grian, forced to stare at his two best friends dead before him. And him- the guild healer- was unable to stop it. Grian’s vision turns red and purple. Dolios digs his shoes into Grian’s gut, sending him sprawling across the ground. “Now that they’re cared for, let’s get onto more important matters.” 

“I’ll cut you down!” Grian shouts, rising to his feet. Not a thought in his head, singularly focused on one thing- avenge his fallen brethren. One moment, Grian is halfway across the clearing. The next, his fist is colliding with Dolios, the force of a hurricane behind him. As his hand collides with Dolios, a crack of thunder echoes from the storm above. Summoned by Grian’s magic, the anger boiling with his blood. 

Lightning cascades from the sky. Ripping through the air, directed towards the magistrate. Volts of electricity barreling to destroy him where he stumbles back from the punch. 

The lightning strikes. 

Not Dolios. A shimmer of light ripples between the bolt and the magistrate, magical shield turning the lightning back on it’s wizard. The bolt bounces off the light shield, and strikes into Grian’s chest. One second Grian is standing, ready for any battle that Dolios offers. The next, he’s on the ground, body spasming against the shocks that run across his nerves, burns spreading from the impact. “You’re different from the last angel.” Dolios muses, snapping his finger. The husk nue, disappeared in the night until needed by it’s master, presses massive clawed feet onto Grian. Dragging sharp claws into his back and wounding him further. The primate face snarls, foaming for the hope to rip Grian to shreds. “At least you had the dignity to stand and fight. But in the end, I always get my quarry.”

Dolios turns away, flicking his hair over his shoulder and peeking back at Grian. And he starts to walk away. The shadow beast disappears, returning to it’s master’s side. Grian struggles to rise. “Where...get back here! I’m not done with you!” 

“No, but I am done with you. You’ve lost, little bird. You know where to find me- make it easier for yourself, and come without a fight. You’ve lost, just accept it.” Dolios turns away, stepping out of the clearing. 

And Grian is left alone. Left in the destruction, the death. Left in the shattered pieces of the crystal and his life. Left with himself, the only living soul, surrounded by his dead friends. Tears mix with blood, his chest aching and pain growing as he heaves a sob up his throat before ripping across his lips. They lost. They may have destroyed the crystal, but Dolios got away, leaving only destruction and death in his wake. Like the very magic he spreads across Lairyon. 

Grian stumbles to his feet, his muscles refusing to work against the pain of the lightning bolt and the overwhelming grief. Blood falling from his back, strength sapping away. But this doesn’t have to be the end. Not for Grian, not for Iskall or Mumbo. Grian is a sky angel- a healer beyond all mortals. He just has to be fast enough, strong enough. 

He pulls Iskall free, collapsing under the weight and sorrow. Rolling his friend over, he places his hand on Iskall’s chest and focuses in.

Light radiates from Grian, and halo appearing over his matted, bloody hair. His wings triple, spreading wide and exuding blinding energy. Each feather is alight in a holy flame, rays beaming from the halo and glowing white eyes opening. The angelic magic twists and dances down from Grian’s wings, running over his own wounds from battle and pulsating through to Iskall. 

Pain sears up Grian’s body, but he ignores it to focus on Iskall. Beneath his hands, Grian feels the wound close. Shrink until all that’s left is a raised scar. And then a heartbeat. Iskall’s chest rises and falls, shallow at first but growing deeper with each new breath. From the clutches of death. Iskall bolts upright, his dying cry falling from his lips. Faced with the sight of Grian’s archangel aura blinding him. 

Grian doesn’t pause, wings beating against the air and ground. He rises into the air, swooping over to Mumbo. Hands shaking, placing gentle fingers against the wound on Mumbo’s neck. Light sweeps from wings to fingertips, cascading across Grian’s own mortal wounds. Light as bright as the noonday sun, ebbing from Grian’s body and flowing into Mumbo’s corpse. 

A gasping breath rasps through Mumbo’s rattled body. He aches, his throat burning like he just choked on something dry and was whipped by a mishappen hand against his adam’s apple. Bright light blinds him. He blinks away the spots in his vision, hand reaching for his throat.

The last thing he remembers is something sharp against his skin, and the Magistrate’s cold, sharp grin in his vision. He doesn’t even know what happened to him until he sits up. Iskall nearly barrels him over, voice swirling around Mumbo but never really reaching him, just a din of death and decay. 

He died. Dolios killed him. Killed Iskall, then him. Cut them down without ever easing his smile. So how is Mumbo still alive? He and Iskall both look around, searching for their healer. They discover Grian crumpled between them both. The halo above his head shatters, light fading and feathers falling apart in the wind. Blood pools beneath Grian, his breath faint, eyes closed. Mumbo presses shaking, pale, cold fingers on the fallen angel’s chest. 

Nothing. No, wait. It’s still there. But faint. 

Iskall and Mumbo don’t waste a second. With Iskall carrying Grian, the architechs flee the forest. Begging for Grian to hold on, just a little longer.

###### 

Walking away from the clearing, Dolios smiles. That cool, calm smile he knows all of Lairyon is addicted to. Deceived by. He doesn’t need to deal with dragging Grian back to the nearest crystal- he’ll give himself up. Just like they all do, when their hopes are crushed and left with only giving up. Giving in to Dolios. He’ll turn himself in, and save Dolios so much time and effort. 

And Dolios cannot wait to finally have angel magic. He won’t waste such rare, unique abilities by simply sapping Grian’s lifeforce, turning him to a husk. No, he intends to take the magic for his own. Leaving nothing left but sky angel magic. His to claim, growing his repertoire. 

Dolios laughs, and places two crossed fingers over the golden sun that clasps his cape together. “That cretin that calls himself an angel is being quite the nuisance. But alas, I will succeed in taking his magic. And you would want me to succeed, right dear friend?”

He may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. Dolios’s smile fades. They’re getting too strong. Even with those three out of his way, he needs to deal with the hermits. 

Directly.


	35. Leyline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hermits rush to save Grian from the precipice of death, and discover the locations of their next great fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is the creation of [ @theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) ! Check them out on tumblr for awesome designs, ideas, etc.

Hypno runs his finger along the map. “We noticed it here, by the Midnight harbor. The ground was all…” 

Scar takes up the mantle. If there’s one person who knows dirt and landscaping, it’s him. “I saw that the grass was wilted, just a little bit off color from the rest of the area. At first i thought maybe it was just a ditch or something, but it was too perfect a line to be natural.” 

“Scar and his dirt.” Cub chuckles. His fellow convex knows about soil and land better than anyone. It’s how he became such a natural S-Class. 

“Yeah, he ate it too.” Hypno shudders. 

“It didn’t taste right, it didn’t feel right. The ground I mean. It was all dry and crumbled on my tongue.” Scar ignores Hypno’s shaking head, focused on remembering what he, Beef, and Hypno had seen. Trying not to get distracted and lose his train of thought. “I followed the line, and it led straight to-” 

Lightning crackled through the sky, interrupting Scar mid sentence and sending all of the hermits skittering under the tree. But not a cloud is in sight, the blue unmarred by anything except sunlight. Xisuma is the first to check the horizon, to watch for a husk storm or impending invasion. Nothing there either. 

A wave crashes up against the hill, surging over sand and grass. From the sea, four figures appear. Beef transforms into a massive, beastly bull, snorting and ready to charge whoever dares disturb the hermits. Hypno and Xisuma summon their magic, while Scar is still getting over his spooked stumble. 

The strangers run past the guild hall, running directly into the village half of Eremita. Beef takes off after them, chasing the red fabric that quivers in the wind. He lowers his horns, his speed buffeting his brown fur. Intense, tunnel vision only for the angry, vibrant color. Even ignoring the splatters of red on the dirt and grass. Beef is mere inches away from goring the four, til something constricts around one of his horns and pulls. 

“Stop, Beef!” Hypno calls, digging his shoes into the ground and pulling the lasso taut. “It’s our friends, look!” 

Beef blinks, taking a deep breath through his snout and blinking back the feral mindset his form dares to take up. Indeed, xB stands between Beef and the other three. Iskall and Mumbo are soaking wet, continuing without the kipling. And in their arms is Grian, limp and unresponsive. It was his cloak that enticed Beef into charging. The bright red of the fabric mixes with the dark stains of blood. 

The taurus mage returns to his human form. “What’s going on?” 

“Grian’s hurt. Real bad.” xB looks over his shoulder, waiting until the door to the infirmary shuts tight. Xisuma races after, grabbing Joe and Wels. “They called for me to help them cross the sea. We lost him for a few minutes on the way here.” 

Hypno, xB, and Beef watch the other hermits scurry across the island. They were a family, each and every one of them willing to do whatever it takes to help the others. Beef’s voice hitches as he speaks. “L-lost him? Like… you misplaced him, right? What do you mean lost him? He couldn’t have… he didn’t die, right?”

xB’s silence is answer enough. Hypno pulls his hand through his hair, running across the black material that keeps wayward locks from his face. “For being our guild’s only healer, he sure knows how to get himself in harm’s way.” 

“Maybe that’s how he keeps the rest of us safe.” Beef follows after TFC, joining the other hermits in the crowded infirmary. Almost every hermit is in the tiny space, crowding in to try and help stabilize Grian. 

“-killed us. Dolios ambushed us a-and killed Iskall and me.” Mumbo’s stammering cuts through the orders coming from Wels, Joe, and Ren. 

“And then Grian used his archangel aura to revive us.” Iskall adds. “He was already so hurt, all I remember is waking up and seeing him resurrect Mumbo. Then pass out.” 

Everything the hermits were talking about before has been abandoned. Scar’s discovery is the last thing on their mind. Right now, all they can focus on is keeping Grian alive. Ren mimics Grian’s magic, hands glowing with light, and gets to work. Healing the wounds, both internal and external. Wels casts a healing buff, aiding Grian’s body in the process, and Joe writes just about every medical supply the hermits could ever need. 

Xisuma filters out the hermits, until it’s just the necessary bodies filling the small infirmary. TFC, Xisuma, Iskall, Mumbo, and the three that were fighting to keep Grian from slipping away. 

And Scar. He sits in the chair beside Grian’s bed, leg bouncing as he tries to understand what Iskall and Mumbo told him. “Dolios had another crystal? He was using it against you guys?” 

“He lured us in, and attacked us. He was there. He didn’t even flinch at killing.” Mumbo shakes his head. 

“He’s a bastard, and a mega one at that.” Iskall adds. Silence falls over the infirmary, only the sound of Grian’s healing, his shallow breath filling the air between the hermits. 

“Did he mention how he corrupted that crystal? Why?” Scar finally whispers, not taking his eyes off Ren’s glowing hands. He knows that Grian’s healing magic isn’t easy. It’s painful, forcing the body to heal itself. The fact that Grian isn’t even moving worries him. 

“He said it took him weeks to make that thing.” Iskall answers, since Mumbo is too preoccupied watching the procedure. His teeth worry his lip, making the mustache dance on his face. He just wants his friend to be okay. “And...and he said something about a- a creation? That he needed the power for him and his creation.” 

Scar’s brows furrow, deep in thought. Piecing together all the parts of the story. It’s like he’s reading a book in random order, finding scraps of the tale and gluing them to make one full line. “The crystals are sending the stolen magic somewhere. They can’t be holding that much power, they’re like...like…” 

“Like redstone redstone torches.” Mumbo breathes, eyes lighting up. “So there has to be something it’s powering.” 

“And that line of dirt and grass, I think it’s got something to do with the stolen magic. It’s a circuit. A leyline of magic.” Scar crashes backwards in his chair, rolling out and slamming the door out of it’s frame. He returns a second later, holding the map. He lays the parchment over Grian’s legs. It’s not like he’s moving anytime soon anyway. 

“Leylines? Like what the ancient ones used?” Joe picks his head up from battling a roll of gauze. Leylines haven’t been used in eons. No one knows how to tap into their energy. It was magic lost with the ancient civilization, pre-Lairyon. 

“Not exact leylines, but more… artificial ones, I guess. Hand me some charcoal.” Xisuma pulls a pencil from his pockets. Always prepared. Scar snatches the pencil, and begins to draw across the map. Straight lines connecting crystals and husk storms. The more lines that Scar adds, the more apparent that his crazy, wild line of thinking becomes. Lines begin to connect, three hotspots appear. 

“The evernight forest.” Ren breathes, hands drifting back from Grian’s body. 

Scar ignores the whisper, continuing with his work. Another hotspot rises from the straight lines, this time on the other side of the kingdom. TFC shakes his head, as if it was obvious. “The Crystal Mines, of course.” 

One final place, and Xisuma growls from beneath his mask as the lines intersect, right in the broken heart island that is nestled within Lairyon’s moon-shaped continent. “Heartbreak Trench.” 

Scar shakes his head. “The power being stolen by those crystals has to be going to these places. Routing power to these for Dolios to use.” 

“What does he need all of that power for? What could he be using it for?” Iskall looks across the map, noticing something else. “It’s in three corners of Lairyon. North, east, and south. Does that mean there’s one to the west as well?” 

Xisuma traces the lines, but they lead to everywhere and anywhere within the western hemisphere of lairyon. “If there is one, we don’t know where it is. For now, we should go on what we know. We should go in search of these hotspots, follow the leylines.” 

“Sounds like a fun new adventure.” All of the hermits present look down, a weak, aching voice joining the conversation. “Where are we going next?” 

Grian is awake, wincing with only one eye open. Iskall and Mumbo are hovering over him, while Grian observes the white bandages that cross over his body, wrap around his arms. He looks around for his shirt and cloak, relieved to find them in decent condition. Otherwise, BDubs is going to have another sewing job. 

Scar hugs his friend tight, until Grian is practically squeaking from the pain and pressure. “So good to have you back among the living, my man. No dark mage can hold you down for long.” 

“If it means giving Dolios a taste of his own medicine after our battle, I’m in.” Grian smiles, already attempting to sit up. Ready to get back to saving the world. “So…. what wild adventure waits for us now?”


	36. Pinnacles of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their discovery, the hermits descend into the Evernight forest in search of more answers, but are only guided deeper into Dolios’s dark web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU belongs to my coauthor Red! Check her out on tumblr at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) for wicked Wizard Hermits designs, great ideas, other aus, and perhaps a few clues to what's next in the chapters :D

The evernight forest was exactly that- ever and always night. The canopy is so dense, no light can escape to the forest floor. But, as Scar, Doc, and Zed know, the forest is not complete darkness. What the sun cannot provide, nature does. 

“The legends say the evernight forest was a place for the god of life and goddess of the dead to meet. Limal created the forest to be dark and comfortable like Natasiel’s underworld.” Xisuma’s voice is the only noise cutting through the air, apart from the brushing of leaves and ferns from the march of the hermits. Everyone came along- they need every last person. “And she created the bioluminescent moss and fungi to brighten the life with Limal.” 

“It feels like we’re sinking into the abyssal plain of the ocean.” xB notes, jumping as a distant roar permeates the massive forest. Was that a cockatrice, or a dragon? He’s not sure which is worse, or which he’d rather have to meet in the darkness of the forest. The darkness is inescapable, and the surface is long gone. “Of course Dolios would put whatever those crystals are for in here. No one in their right mind would wander this deep into the Evernight.” 

“Scar, how’re we doing on the groundcover?” Cub peeks over his friend’s shoulder, eyes squinting in the darkness. Scar’s the only one who can track the leylines, though both Ren and Joe are working on creating a spell that can follow the dark magic as well.

“It seems to be getting worse, and look- I can see more leyline tracks coming in. We have to be close.” As soon as the words pass across Scar’s lips, he runs headlong into a solid mass. In the darkness of the forest, with only glowing mushrooms and ferns to light their way, no one notices the towering monstrosity nestled between trees. But as Scar bounces off the sheer, smooth surface, sigils illuminate across the material. 

Glowing white, as bright as the sun, an eerie and disarming sight in the depths of the Evernight forest. The hermits turn away from the ebbing light, until the world around them is bathed in the soft glow of bioluminescence once more. Tango looks at the tower. “I think we found it.” 

“Question is, what is it?” BDubs circumambulates the pillar, fingers running across the ebony material, dancing over the sigils. It reminds them of the day they found their first corrupted crystal, what feels like so long ago. How naive they were, believing that the Magistrate was going to give them everything he said. That he wasn’t tricking them. 

But this time is different. They know how to break Dolios’s magic, they know how to handle corruption. It towers over the hermits, disappearing into the dense foliage far above them. Xisuma steps forward. “It’s not crystal. I- I don’t know what this is. And I don’t know what these symbols are.” 

“They look ancient.” Grian blinks, feeling a pull towards the written sigils. He knows angel magic has existed since the time of the ancient ones, are these sigils from that era long gone as well? Grian steps forward, his curiosity getting the better of him, until both Iskall and Mumbo grab him by an arm, pulling him back. White bandages still peek out from beneath his robes, and Mumbo can’t help but notice the scar running across his friend’s throat.

“Whatever it is, we have to destroy it. Without this, whatever those crystals are for can’t keep helping that mega-douche Dolios.” Iskall snaps his fingers, bright fluorescent green appearing as his magic scrawls outward. At the crack of Iskall’s radioactive lightning, Impulse jumps in and bombs the ground beneath the obelisk. 

It doesn’t break. They try again, with more magic thrown against the obelisk, but the pinnacle of darkness only absorbs the magic. Scar jumps to the side, watching with shock and horror as the very magic that his friends have thrown against the obelisk goes shooting from beneath his feet. Another leyline. This time a massive highway of dark, corrupted power. 

Behind Scar, Beef’s horns scrape against the blackstone, meeting with TFC’s cautious hand on the rock and bouncing off effortlessly. “It’s immune to all magic. It’s just taking the power and sucking it in.” 

“What the hell does Dolios have a need for this, though?” Mumbo shakes his head. What could a dark mage need from a giant obelisk, taking the magic stolen by the crystals? Are they reservoirs? Implants? Some sort of weird flex? 

“They’re just junctions.” Scar whispers. He grabs at Ren, pulling the imagination mage over by the tail. “Do some kinda spell that’ll show the leylines.” 

“That’s one tall order, but…” Ren cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck, making a display of his stretching. The motions of summoning his magic are more fluid, wagging his arms and clawing his fingers, and the detailed circle appears before him. Ren has to focus on this magic, imaging a whole spell from nothing. He imagines the ground lighting up beneath them, turning a bright red- his favorite color. Like staining the leylines with dye, he draws up a picture in his head. 

When Ren peeks through his eyes, the ground beneath his feet is awash in the color of sunset. In every direction, thin leylines radiate out from the obelisk, straight lines like spokes of a wheel. So many crystals, stealing life and power all over Lairyon. And this is only one of the three hotspots. Are they all like this? Siphoning power from the crystals, and… and doing what with them, exactly? To what purpose does this obelisk have?

One leyline is brighter and larger than other spokes. While the crystal paths are as thin as a Qilin trail, this one could be wide enough for a whole grootslang to meander down. Ren kneels in the dry, crusted ground that this leyline highway runs through. “Can I have the map, brother?” 

TFC passes the scroll to Ren, who rolls it out onto the glowing floor. The dark ink and charcoal appear as shadows against the watercolor map, illuminated from beneath by the red magic radiating from the eerie black obelisk. Ren scoots across the forest floor, until north in real life matches north on the paper, and he begins to draw a line that follows the tangential highway.

He keeps running the line, following through the Evernight forest, across the plains and marshes of central Lairyon. Over rivers, past Milliara and a dozen other small towns. Right into the heart of the magical kingdom. Where is this leading him? Where is all this power going? Whatever this leads to has to be hidden, much like this obelisk. 

Ren’s pencil stops when light green turns dark, the paint so deep and inky it nearly blots out the light. Over his shoulder, the other hermits groan and gasp. The one place in all of Lairyon, the most dangerous, most powerful, most secretive part in the entire kingdom. Long before recorded history there was this place. Was it always a part of the landscape, a knot of magic that no man nor creature can begin to understand? Was it created by the gods as some sort of hidden land, forbidden for all but the bravest? Or maybe it’s a dumping ground, something that the ancient ones left behind, cursed to protect or keep other people away. No one has ever mapped this place before- no one is stupid enough to go in there. It makes the mysterious dangers of the Ashioll sea look like a cakewalk. 

But if there was anywhere Dolios would hide something, put whatever this power is supplying to, it would be where no one- not even a hermit- would dare go under any circumstance. Somewhere dense and protected by magic, shrouded by secrets and torturous, arcane curses. Somewhere as old as the ancient ones, as mysterious as the long lost civilization that called Lairyon home. 

“The Forest of Memories.”


	37. Addows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the hermits hope to enter the most dangerous place in Lairyon, they need to know about the Forest of Memories. Xisuma, Cub, and Joe venture to the haunted city of Addows in search of information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au, many of its wonderful ideas, and the designs of the hermits all belong to my epic coauthor, Red! Please give him love over on tumblr at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also Hi, Avon here! An update on monday? What? Red and I decided (now that my school schedule is less fucky) to return to an update schedule much like my first work Wandering Stars (exclusive to tumblr), in hopes that this will gain more attention and traction! Please if you like this story, let us know! We feed off love!

Mist swirls around Xisuma, his vision obscured by the thick fog of the city. Old, ancient buildings are all around him, once a city of the ancient ones still alive with the people of Lairyon. Massive stone temples, graveyards for heroes and legends, buildings with no known purpose that now house creeds and clairvoyants. 

Addows is a home of ghosts. Ghosts of the past, present in both tomes that the temples and libraries hold, and actual spirits that wander the eternally misty street. No one is spooked by the spooks, just another face in the crowd. 

And it’s the perfect place for the hermits to dig up ancient knowledge. If anywhere would have information on the Forest of Memories, it would be the hallowed halls of Addows. Cub creeps closer to Xisuma, not quite sure if he likes not being able to see more than a few feet in front or behind him. He’s sure there’s some sort of proverb that Joe would spew at him about this and the past or whatever, but right now he doesn’t want to hear it. Joe, meanwhile, is loving this atmosphere. The spooky vibes, the aged buildings and haunting people. He could write entire novels about this place, how much it fits his aesthetic. He may just have to build a new library on Eremita to match this. Plus, his fuzzy cloak is comfortable and fits in well with the shadowed passersby. 

The three hermits wander the streets, walking through the midday mist, watching as buildings appear from nothing and disappear once again. Joe gets distracted every once in awhile on a witch’s shop, books older than the kingdom, apothecaries with all kinds of rare materials, and about a dozen different colored candles. And lots of rocks. TFC would have a field day. 

But after what feels like both hours and seconds of walking down the twisting streets of the ancient city, they finally arrive where they need to be. A building so old that the rain and forest has weathered it down, and a whole new layer of detritus has turned to dirt, ferns, trees, and vines growing down the massive stone pillars. In the weathered carving, the purpose of the ancient building remains the same. It’s a library, the largest in all the kingdom and filled with the most extensive, the most knowledgeable, and the most ancient of works. In languages long dead and unrevivable, written by ghost writers that now haunt these halls, and recounted by the living and the dead that wander the stacks.

“And a delightful young adult section with some of my favorite works for young readers.” Joe hums. “Anything, and I mean anything-” He pauses, letting Xisuma and Cub fill in what he means, “can be found in the national library of Addows.” 

“That means if there’s anywhere that will tell us how to handle the Forest of Memories, or what could be hiding in there, it’s here.” Xisuma wanders down the stacks. All three hermits itch to reach out and pull books of their favorite genres or authors. Cub wants to dive into the deep end of the ancient ones history. Xisuma wants to study the great works of the best astronomers. And Joe wants to read the most mind boggling pieces that make absolutely no sense. He loves that feeling of being left confused about what he just read. 

They search the tomes, from geography to history, history to science. They search every section- even the young adult section. Cub resorts to portaling around rather than running the worn stone stairs, but to no avail. In the end, all three of the hermits are sitting in an alcove of ferns and vines, staring out over the thick misted city.

“It wasn’t in anything. Has no one ever written about the Forest of Memories?” Xisuma grumbles, pulling off his mask. It’s not like there’s any sun, he doesn’t need his brother’s creation. 

“Someone had to. It’s been around for eons and is nestled in the heart of Lairyon. I can think of so many epics that could rely solely upon those two aspects.” Joe speaks with his head on his hands, looking over the library. Where haven’t they checked? “I’m starting to think it’s not even real, just a bunch of folktales.” 

Silence, until Cub’s eyes light up. “Folktales! Where do you put everything that you don’t know or understand?” 

“In the trash bin?” Joe’s dry humor is not lost on Xisuma, but Cub is too excited. 

“The folklore!” Cub summons his magic, a portal opening between the hermits, taking them to the very entrance of the library. The beginning of it all. He jumps through, skidding into a cracked pillar, but the stone is held fast by roots of the forest. Joe and Xisuma follow after, the portal collapsing behind them. 

“Forest….forest...forest…” Cub whispers, running his fingers along books, scrolls, even just tablets of stone. “Forest, Evernight. Nope. Forest, Creation of. No…” 

He stops, fingers coming to rest on a manuscript. Two wood planks pressing fabric pages together. It has no written title, but the front of the book is a tree with it’s branches intertwined like that of a brain. Cub grabs the manuscript, opening it with fervor. “Godsdamnit.” 

“What’s wrong now?” Xisuma sighs, peering over the portal mage’s shoulder. But the symbols scrawled on the fabric are meaningless to them both. Not even Joe, who purveys in ancient and useless knowledge, has no ability to read the book. 

“Ahh, The Journey to the Center of Lairyon’s Mind. A very good work. Quite dense.” All three hermits shriek, echoing in the quiet library as a misty head appears through the bookshelves. They should have been prepared for a ghost, but in the heat of the moment, they forgot they were in the most haunted city in the kingdom.

“H-have you read this? Can you r-read this language?” Joe holds the book out. 

The ghost steps through the shelves, her hand becoming solid enough to hold up the piece. “It’s old kipling. Before they integrated into one oceanic script. Back in the early days, when Lairyon was just a bunch of warring nations. Ah, the oceans were so peaceful in comparison.” 

“What does the author say? What does this mean?” Joe points at the fine print of a page that the kipling opened. 

“It’s the dedication! It’s to me!” She laughs, ghostly fin ruffling with joy. “My wife was such a wonderful author, she is still curious to this day.” 

Xisuma surges up to the ghost, no longer afraid. “The author, she’s still here? Where is she?” 

“Why, I’m sure she’s moping around our gravestone, waiting for me to come back so she can tell me more stories that she picked up from the other ghosts.” The kipling ghost pauses. “Would you like to meet her, or rather just read through this dingy old book? Why not meet the real adventurer Cielle DuNord? Bravest woman ever, only person to enter the heart of the Forest of Memories and come back sane. At least...only recorded person.” 

From the oldest library, the hermits follow the bouncing kipling down the street to the oldest cemetery. Sometimes they lose sight of her in the fog, her ghostly figure becoming a part of the mist and disappearing. But it just takes a laugh and a call from Lady Nellaime, her dress swaying like kelp in the waves, and they’re back on track. The misty glen opens to reveal ancient tombs and stones, but Nellaime waltzes through the historic graveyard as she would saunter through a flower garden. 

Despite the spooky feeling, it’s not scary. The hermtis feel a sense of calm respect among the gates. Rare flowers bloom at the entrances of mausoleums, trees sprouting from burial mounds. Candles provide light along the well cared pathway, and a child runs by, smiling as he trips and hugs an ancestor’s gravestone. 

From the mist, a glowing form appears, hugging the boy back. The ghost settles down in the grass, chatting with the family. Nellie continues past, deeper into the heart of the graveyard, seemingly bigger on the inside. The tombs age the deeper they walk, until Nellie stops at a raised crypt. Carved in the ancient coral stone, two smiling faces rest on their backs, the women’s hands intertwined at the center. Nellie skips onto the tombstone, knocking on the nose of the other kipling. “My sweet Cielle, you have visitors! More fans of yours!”

The eyes blink open, misty blue lashes fluttering. A noncorporeal form drifts from the stone crypt, dress flowing from existing to not, strong arms reaching over and hugging her wife. “You always make friends so fast. Living or dead, you just make people smile. Just like lighting up my life, my little ghost light.” 

“Not in front of guests.” Nellie giggles, her fins fluttering from the sweet kiss. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such…” Cielle looks the three up and down. “Unique visitors upon my grave?” 

“Are you really the only person who has made it out of the Forest of Memories alive?” Xisuma wastes no time, which causes both ladies to titter.

“No, though I know Nellie here likes to be hyperbolic. Quite a few people have gone into the Forest without going crazy. But you have to be prepared to enter in.” Cielle leans forward, tugging a ghostly finger through Xisuma’s hair like a mother combing a child’s hair. 

“Prepare? What kind of spells do we need? Weapons?” Cub flips through the pages of the book, but it’s in a completely unknown language to him. 

“You can prepare yourself physically as long as you like, but it won’t do much. You have to prepare yourself mentally.” Cielle taps her head, and giggles. “See, for me, all I had to do was think about my fiancee back in Corelpi. I dunno how, but it was like a walk through a garden.” 

“But there is one place that knows all about the Forest of Memories. Where the most people have entered and returned relatively sane.” Nellaime grins, a few locks of hair falling from her messy bun. Cielle reaches over and fixes the loose locks. “Fielville!” 

“Of course,” Xisuma slaps his hand on his head, leaving a bright red mark on his skin. “Druids, insectia, the oldest traditions from the ancient ones are still practiced there.”

“The elder there has entered and exited the Forest of Memories more than even I have- but then again, she lives longer than me, which isn’t fair.” Cielle sits back. “But be warned- no matter how prepared you think you are for that wood, it will be nothing compared to the true might of the forest. You will return with whatever trove you are in search of-” She pauses. “Or you will not return at all.”


	38. Queen Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tradition meets change when the hermits arrive in Fielville, and meet with the Elder Council Queen, one of the few people who understands the Hangman’s Playground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU and many of the ideas (including the insectia species!) are the brilliant mindwork of my coauthor Red! Check her out at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) !

“Go wash up, Grian. It’s against tradition to enter court looking like you just rolled in a patch of mud.” Mumbo states, rocking on the balls of his feet as they stand before the hexagonal building. He flicks a patch of grass from Grian’s shoulder, which strikes Iskall in the eye. The good one, at least. 

“It’s not my fault the wind suddenly picked up when I was trying to land.” Grian laughs as Iskall stumbles back. He turns to xB, spreading mudstained arms and wings wide. “Hey, can you clean me off?” 

The kipling’s eyes light up, and he cracks his knuckles. “With pleasure, my dude.” 

xB’s circle appears, followed by a rush of water over Grian’s body. Like someone dropped an entire tub of water on his head. His feathers ruffle and splash the nearby hermits, who voice their displeasure, but the stains disappear from his skin, wings, and clothes. 

Except now he’s wet. Mumbo and Stress groan and clasp their heads. They’re about to meet the elder of Fielville, one of the last few towns that still have an elder council. And of course Grian had to be.... Well, Grian now of all times. The rural village orphan, playing in dirt as they enter this tradition filled hall. 

The scorpion guards stand at attention, waiting for the crew of hermits to stop their bickering. Impulse blasts Grian with a heat explosion, fixing the wet problem but creating a whole new issue. Now Grian’s hair is blown back in a thousand different directions, and his clothes pressed in odd angles. 

Honeycomb shaped doors open, guards bowing with tails arched over their backs- stingers dripping with venom as they point towards the hermits. Down the cavernous nest, insectia crawl up the wall from floor to floor, flying and walking. Town square one level up, the marketplace in another wing of the hive. But the ground floor was where the queen ruled. Following the guidance of mantis advisors, they wander down until they reach the rise in combs. Standing atop was the queen bee.

Literally. A bee insectia stands at the podium, antennae swiveling with curiosity. A mantis clambers up and whispers in her ears, while the hermits attempt to bow and curtsy to their best ability, following all protocols and tradition they can muster up. The bee flutters her wings, peering over the podium. “You wish to know about the Hangman’s Playground? What for?”

TFC steps up, as the leader of the guild it’s tradition for him. “Queen Erlea, we… We believe something dangerous is being hidden in those woods. We are the only ones who have any understanding for this mission, we’re the only ones who can go in search.”

The queen’s transparent wings flutter, her hums sounding more like a buzz. Black and yellow locks of hair fall over ebony eyes. “Yes, that dangerous thing is the whole forest. Nothing is more dangerous than the Forest of Memories, and none of you are ready. I can sense it in each and every one of you.” 

“But we’re ready!” Grian shouts, and the entire hive fills with gasps, including from Mumbo and Stress. Speaking out of line isn’t tradition. Shouting is not tradition. 

“I am reluctant to tell such an ill prepared, unadvised, incapable guild about the Forest of Memories. No one should go wandering in there- perhaps whatever this danger is should be left within the Forest. You will hear nothing from me, and by my order none shall enter.” Queen Erlea juts her chin out, dismissing them as she seats herself beside the podium.

Tango isn’t about to go that easily. “We’re going in, whether we have this information or not!” 

His voice is backed up by Impulse and Zedaph. Mumbo feels as if he’s about to have a panic attack, eyes wide and alarmed. None of this is tradition, and the queen bee’s legs uncross beneath her long, honeycomb styled dress. He can’t tell the queen’s emotions through her eyes- dammit, why didn’t he study body language of insectia before?

Silence falls over the hive, the queen staring at the hermits. There’s a soft click of stingers surrounding them, as if the whole hive is ready to defend their queen. Defend their tradition. Until laughter falls over the blanket of quiet. 

The queen titters, before collapsing into a full chested guffaw. Pollen escapes from her long hair, dancing along the lace and puffs of her gown. “Finally! Finally, someone with enough gusto to talk back. Do you know how boring it’s been to never be spoken back to for so many years?” 

The clacking of stingers stops, and the hermits’ nervous laughter follows. Keralis notices an interesting looking beetle skittering down the hall, but is only halted by Xisuma and a firm grasp to his collar. Now’s not the time for a snack. Zedaph raises an eyebrow. “So… will you help us?” 

“Help you? After that show, I simply must! I will tell you all I know of the Forest of Memories. I have entered there many times, and my fellow Fielville peers are quite knowledgeable as well. If I do not know your answer, surely they shall.” 

Joe pulls out his pen, licking the tip and ready to jot down notes. “What is it about the Forest that is so dangerous? Is it monsters, traps? Magic? Magical traps with monsters?”

“Nothing that you can fight. The Forest of Memories shall test you mentally and emotionally, it shall dredge up your worst fears and greatest pains, but only if you expose that side of yourself to it. Enter the forest with any negative thoughts, and it will destroy you.” 

“But if we enter with only positive thoughts, it’ll be easy?” Mumbo questions, biting his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t go on this mission. 

“Precisely. Lady Cielle, for example-” Queen Erlea reveals a book from her frocks, the very book that brought them to the ghost. “Her beloved Nellaime had just proposed to her before she entered the forest. She had nothing on her mind but her soon-to-be wife.” 

“So just go in thinking good thoughts, that’s not too bad, it’s like a kids play!” BDubs scoffs. How is it that bad if all it takes is thinking good things and saying ‘i believe’?

“Not so simple, bubble boy.” The queen titters. She sits down on the risen honeycomb, legs swinging from beneath her dress. “The forest is like a parasite, and it feeds on your emotions. Negative emotions are as sweet as honey to it. Even if you hide those feelings, it will draw them out, and use them against you. So you will have to go in prepared to face your darkest demons.” 

“I’m not even ready to face my lightest demons.” Keralis’s eyes are wide and terrified, no longer thinking of all the bugs around him. 

Queen Erlea nods. “It would be wise for you to supply yourselves.” She taps her finger against her chin, antennae flicking as she thinks. “Potions to ease your fears and hinder the effects of the Forest of Memories, as well as amulets and talisman to ward it off in the first place. They won’t stop attacks from the forest all together, but it will provide armor.” 

“No better place to gather magical supplies than Redland.” Etho raises an eyebrow, grinning beneath his mask.

“Will we be able to afford all those supplies?” Scar knows much about the magical capital of Lairyon. And he knows better than anyone how expensive the merchants will sell their goods. At least, his family did. Even then, as many potions and amulets as they’ll need will be a costly necessity. 

“We have money from the championship!” Grian remembers the chalice full of gold that they just abandoned in the guild hall. They were so focused on the revelation that Magistrate Dolios was the dark mage that they left the winning gold and trophy just sitting in the alcove of the guild tree. 

“As for the actual forest- the Hangman’s Playground is a thicket of brambles, thorns, poisonous plants and carnivorous flowers.” Erlea nods her head to False’s blade.”You will need an arsenal of diverse weapons- the Forest will learn and adapt against you. It is alive- it will fight back. Your magic will be useless compared to physical blades. So better start training.” 

TFC bows his head, gloved hand pressing at his heart. “Thank you, your majesty. This information could be lifesaving.” 

Erlea hums. “Thank me when your guild returns safe, sane, and alive.” 

The hermits all bow, and allow themselves to be guided back to the hexagonal doorway, back out into Fielville, among the druids and insectia beyond the beehive of a castle, townhall, marketplace- just about anything, built by the insectia people to protect against the elements. Especially rain. 

Before the scorpion guards can show them out, a voice calls across the hall. “And please… take care of that bastard. For me, a-and King Sor and Tris.” Down the hall, the Queen looks at them. “They are like sons to me.”


	39. Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redland, the capitol city of magic, where the hermits hope to gather the supplies they need if they hope to survive the Hangman’s Playground. While Etho and Stress are gathering potions, they meet unlikely allies- with closer ties than they expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont forget to check out Red, the creator of this AU and the genius behind many of these plot ideas, over at tumblr at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) !

Redland stretches to the sky, the quirky nature of magic on full show even in the architecture of the city. Towers peaked with rotund pinnacles, painted bright and distinctive colors. All levels of the city are full of the bright, baubled roofs. The main street and busy sections of the city are perfectly manicured, hedges with vibrant flowers and verdant greens, but when the hermits look down calm alleys and quiet streets, nature has settled against the brickwork and grown between the cobble, nature filling in with it’s own eccentric accents. 

The hermits wander through the city, an eclectic town full of wandering walkways, silent speakeasies, and unique universities. The schools of magic sit across from each other, students of offensive magic having lunch with students studying performance arcana. Bright banners wave in the breeze. Shops are full of any and every kind of item, a bazaar of the magic and mundane. Some shops boast large inventories, enchantments made enmasse and sold to large crowds- glamors were a favorite. Others host the antique and unique. No rhyme or reason what they hold, useless lamps next to powerful staffs.

TFC turns to Xisuma. “Can you divvy up the gold? We can cover more ground finding supplies for our mission if we separate.” 

“What I wouldn’t give for that sky kid’s magic right now.” Xisuma sighs, digging out the gold and handing it off to various groups of hermits. 

Stress and Etho glance at one another. “I think we’re gonna look for some potions firstly. If we go to the alchemy academy, I’m absolutely positive we’ll find somethin’.” 

“And if not, we can… convince a student to help us get what we want.” Etho pats his back, feeling his kusarigama tucked in his light, silent material. 

“Don’t forget to ask about the ingredients!” BDubs shouts as the two walk away, towards the bright green and yellow tower that holds the school of potion brewing. “Silvershade is not the same as Shadesilver!” 

Stress shakes her head, and challenges Etho to a footrace through the city. He accepts with a grin, and they take off down the main avenue. She laughs, feeling a sense of freedom in how strong the magic is in the city. Redland embodies everything magic is. It’s natural, it's eclectic, it’s bright, it’s unique. And every flower blooming in between the cobblestones, every shop full of mysterious wares and magical amulets, is full of that spirit. 

She turns her head, calling back to Etho from over her shoulder. “I’m gonna win, try an’ catch me!” 

From beneath the midnight blue mask that covers Etho’s nose and lips, a coy grin appears. He’s given Stress the lead, only to shock his friend when he wins. His mismatched eyes glimmer with mischief, and he turns. Running straight into a tree. 

Straight into a tree’s shadow. He leaves the plane of existence, and skids on his feet as he enters the shadow realm. Grey, calming mist dances through shadows, and his feet tapping through puddles of water across the floor. In all the time he’s spent in this realm, he can never truly understand it. He doesn’t know why it’s so misty, impossible to see more than a few meters in front of him. Or where the mist comes from, dancing in the darkness. Why it’s damp, like a rain had just occurred. He’s never seen it rain here. He also has no clue why it smells funky in here. Like a wayward explosion matched with rotten fish. Is there even anything more than a puddle around here? 

No matter. Etho’s winning this race. He takes off in the direction he and Stress were running, feeling himself pass through buildings, hedges, even people in the other realm. It’s a tingly feeling in his belly. Once he’s sure he’s made it to the alchemy school, he casts his magic, tossing it in front of him to reenter the mortal realm. 

He passes right through it. He stumbles and crashes to the floor, not so ninja-like. “Dammit, no not now!” 

There’s no discernable shadows for him to jump through. The sun must be tucked behind a cloud. Too big a swath of darkness for him to use, too general. He paces, tossing a circle with every turn of his heels, running through each time. He did this to beat Stress, being a badass and a bastard. He specializes in that delicate balance of the two. But instead, he’s stuck in the stinky shadow realm, and worse he lost the footrace. 

His spell casts again, but when he walks through this time, he’s met by the blinding bright light of the sun. And Stress’s gleeful cackle. “You cheated! None of that magical stuff!” 

“What does it matter, it didn’t work.” He states, but he’s smiling all the same. Etho runs his hand over his white hair, tugging it away from his face so he can see the alchemy tower in full. “Should we check the shops first? What are we even looking for?” 

“Queen Erlea said we’re gonna need some healing potions and deterrents for the forest. I can assume mental and emotional potions are in that category.” Stress counts along the street full of potion shops, before spinning around and letting fate decide where they search first. A bright green shop, the window filled with potted plants and chaotic cats. Stress squeals at the sight of the kittens and bolts to the shop. Etho follows behind, grabbing the door before it can slam back to it’s jamb, without disturbing the sunbathing felines. 

They peruse this store. And the next. And the next. Finding healing potions was easy, and with Etho’s aggressive bartering they’re even discounted. Bottles of bright pink liquid, bundles of travel sized form- gummy chews easy to pop into one’s mouth-, and tiny tinctures full of potent life saving potions. 

But no matter what store they enter, how many times they ask or persuade, no one sells mental potions. Some say they’re pseudomagic, others that they’re too hard to create. And after being kicked out of another alchemy shop, Stress and Etho are sitting on the sidewalk, bouncing ideas across each other. 

“Maybe we don’t need them? Maybe the others will find supplies that can do the job?” Etho offers. 

“Or perhaps we can search Joe’s library to find something else.” Stress flops back, ignoring how she blocks the sidewalk as she stares up at the sky. “Where can we get mental barrier potions but Redland?”

“Why not try making them ourselves?” Etho looks over, gazing at the Alchemy tower. “I bet that school has every book, ingredient, and setup ever invented. We’re clever and smart, we’re hermits after all. If no one makes them, we’ll make them ourselves.” 

Stress reclines up to her elbows, squinting her eyes. “Yer right, Etho. Think you can get us into one of them potion rooms of the school?” 

“Do I think I can? I know I can.” Etho snickers. They walk through the open doors of the school, bustling past students young and old, human or kipling or insectia or even bacca, boy or girl or otherwise. Etho pulls down his mask to fit in with the crowd, though his hair always sticks out. Stress keeps close to him, glancing around the halls. For a second, she swears she sees someone looking at her, but she ducks her head and keeps moving. They turn a cornel, following the signs for potion labs. Listening for one room to be empty. Etho stops at the doorway of one. Closes his eyes, and walks through a shadow. 

But he returns from where he entered. “No, no it’s all dark in there! Why don’t they have anything boiling, any lamps or anything! What kind of lab is this?” 

“My lab, and what do you plan to do with my laboratory?” A strong, clear voice cuts through both hermits like a knife, and they both freeze. Maybe if they don’t move, the voice will move on. But instead, another voice rises up. 

“You’re hermits, are you not?” A younger, sharp voice drawls. “I was told about you. Didn’t expect two of you bitches to be sneakin’ into my professor’s lab.” 

Etho makes a bolt for the nearest shadow, but he passes right through the shadow and back into light. Stumbling down the hall, he’s dragged back to the professor and student combo, while Stress is turned around to face them. Etho taps his fingers. “We were just… looking around! Trying to find the bathrooms.” 

The student looks up at the professor, eyebrows rising from a serious face. He nods, clasping his hands behind his back. The student grins, tucks a lock of black hair behind an elongated ear, and snaps her fingers. 

“We’re sneakin’ inta the lab to make potions!” Stress claps her hand over her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that. Why did she say that? “No one makes what we need to enter the Forest of Memories!”

“The Forest of Memories? Red said you were batshit crazy, but that…” Etho picks up his head, vaguely recognizing the name. 

“Well, you could have just asked for my keys.” Sylaeus shrugs, producing a ring full of mismatched keys and dangling chains. “Selene, be a dear and get these two my Encyclopedia of Potions. I’ll start up the burners.” 

Shock registers on both hermits faces, but Selene dutifully saunters down the hall, turning and entering a large door in the passage. Stress walks into the lab, admiring the collection of jars, half finished potions, and ingredients kept in the room. But Etho no longer has the inclination to enter. “Why are you helping us? We just tried to break into your lab.” 

“If you need a potion that badly that you would try to break into my office, you must need it for good reason. Adventuring into the Forest of Memories is one hell of a reason at that.” Sylaeus ignites a flame beneath a long, complicated series of funnels, tubes, and flasks. He tempers the flame, fire glimmering of his intense gaze. “Besides, it means I get to teach more about potions.” 

Selene returns with the book, hefting a tome as large as her torso and twice as thick. “So what the hell kind of potions are you guys going to make?” 

“Potions that will negate our fears and dampen the effects of the forest?” Stress tries her best to repeat what Queen Erlea suggested. “Maybe some repel potions as well?” 

The long eared mage hauls open the book, flipping through the pages with intense, glaring eyes. She stops, turning it around for Etho and Stress to see. “You had to request the most difficult potions to fucking make. It’s a damn good thing I spent the past month gathering more than enough supplies for you to use.” 

And with the guidance of Sylaeus and his student, Etho and Stress get to work. The careful art of alchemy came naturally to both hermits- Stress’s attention to detail let her see exactly when the right shade of amber for the potion appeared, while Etho’s perceptive training and patience guide him through finding just the right mixture of Silvershade and shadesilver. Even Sylaeus complimented his new students on their fine work. 

“While we’re waiting for the mixture to cool, would either of you like a drink?” She waves her hand, and four cups appear before them. The professor grins, swiping a drink and guzzling the never ending cup down. 

“My student’s finest mixture.” Sylaeus grins, patting his apprentice on the top of her fluffy, long mane of hair. 

“Is it a healing potion?” Etho questions. “Or maybe a stamina potion?” 

“Lemonade. Sip sip bitch.” Selene retorts, deadpanned. 

“Miss Selene, are you a multi-mage? You used telekinesis to drag Etho back before, but now you used summoning magic.” Stress takes a drink, shocked to watch that her cup is never ending. “A-and some kind of spatial magic?” 

“Selene here is my best student for more reasons than one. Not only can she brew better potions than even master alchemists, but she also spent years studying magic until she gained power of her own.” Sylaeus sees the confusion on the two’s face, and lets Selene fill them in. 

“I was born without magic.” She states. “It’s rare, but it happens. I wasn’t ready to give up on myself yet. I spent days and nights, studying every book I could get my hands on, watching the other kids use their magic. With enough time and dedication, I found the power within myself. Whatever magic I study, I can create.” 

Stress has tears welling in her eyes by the time the story is over. “What a lovely tale, an’ look at you now! All that persistence and never givin’ up paid off!” 

“I’m sure Selene could have lived her life without magic, or have chosen a darker route to gain power. But it’s her own magic, and she’s a proud S-Class wizard!” Sylaeus beams like a father, a teacher proud of his student.

The potion behind them starts to rapidly shift colors, and all four descend upon it to add the last ingredient- prismarine shards shed from a guardian. Etho wonders where Selene got such a prized ingredient, something most kiplings aren’t willing to part with.

In a puff of smoke, the potion stabilizes. Selene corks the bottle, writing in scrawling handwriting of it’s intention, and hands it off to Stress. She also guides them out, an orb of soft white light guiding them down the halls of the academy. 

Etho’s reminded of one other person who had seemingly unlimited types of magic. “You know… Magistrate Dolios claims to be a multi-mage, but his magic is a lot like yours.” 

“Watch it, asshole.” Selene growls, opening the door and letting them out of the Alchemy tower. “I think we both know that the magistrate lies about everything. Perhaps that includes how he got his magic.”


	40. Periapts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many hermits does it take to find protection amulets? And not bring home even more junk like a target run? And what do they do when the Guild of Gedeon discovers them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my awesome coauthor Red for wizard designs, other aus, and more info on this story! Drop em some love at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)

“Grian, those shoes are worthless for you- you already have wings!” Iskall waves his arms, exasperated by his shopping buddies. In the midst of the Redland bazaar, the hermits have separated out to find supplies they both need and could use. Iskall tones himself down as two Gedeons walk by, the entire area going quiet and watching as the council guildmembers march on. What are they doing in Redland?

“Yeah, but you don’t. You guys could use it though!” Grian buys the sandals without second thought, and without haggling for the price. Mumbo groans. They have yet to even purchase a protection or repelling item- or any amulet. He’s not sure if Grian understands saving money, and can only look away, across the busy, bustling bazaar to see who else is having better luck. 

Hypno can’t help but play with the dowsing rods in his hands, only for xB to grab one rod before the two pieces can cross paths. “Those aren’t a toy, give me those things. Do you want to summon a storm?”

“It could be useful! A big storm to battle off a husk storm!” Hypno grins, before patting his hands against his friend’s shoulder. “It’s alright, man, we can grab some talismans right after this. But this is too cool to pass up!” 

Together, with xB’s innate kipling knowledge of enchantments, they pick out a few talismans. Wards against harm and unfortunate thoughts. Removing the law of attraction, or at least easing it. Two of the talismans were mass produced, before xB advised Hypno that unique amulets were likely stronger, picking through boxes and glass cases full of strange, vibrant pieces. 

But it doesn’t take long for xB to get distracted on his own. Reeling back when he sees it. “Whoa, I didn’t know these still existed! I thought the last of the moodium ores have died out!”

“But xB, we’re supposed to be looking for amulets.” Hypno mimics xB, but he’s grinning. “What even is it?” 

“It’s a mood ring!” xB’s voice rises and falls to make it sound mysterious. 

Hypno isn’t much impressed. “You mean the trinkets you get from the candy store as a kid?” 

“No! Those were inspired by real mood rings. Watch this.” xB slips the ring on, and covers the pink, round cut gem and closes his eyes. Hypno snickers, watching for the stone to change color just because of xB’s body heat. His snicker fades, lip quivering as he feels globs of hot tears fall from his eyes. What the hell, why is he crying? Why does he feel so sad? 

“You…” xB’s grin and a wiggle of his bejeweled finger is all he needs to see to know what’s happened. “Asshole! You changed my emotions!” 

“No, I didn’t. You were already sad about something, I just amplified that. I also can smell that you didn’t brush your teeth this morning.” xB covers his nose, pulling off the ring before taking a deep, relieving breath. 

Hypno isn’t sure what he’s sad about, but it was obviously there. He wipes away the tears, large droplets and streams down his cheeks. Ruining his cool guy attitude, just crying in some random shop in the middle of a bazaar. He looks around for something to raise his epic points, but becomes distracted when he sees three Gedeons roughing up a shopkeep, demanding some kind of council tax he never heard of. In fact, all of the bazaar is quieter than other times he’s been to Redland. As if a nightmare patrols with Sidero’s henchmen. Perhaps that’s what saddens him. Even here, the Council’s influence is felt. 

Further down, nestled in an arcade offshoot, Ren, Jevin, and Cleo are in the middle of an intense battle. Not with swords or magic, but words. 

“300 rupees.” Cleo declares, holding up the protection talisman. The sigilized stone dangles in the air, twisting and casting it’s armoring gaze out on the bazaar.

“800, little lady.” The portly merchant reaches out, threading his fingers around the cord and starts to pull it back.

“350, and you get to keep your fingers for calling me a lady.” Cleo lays her other hand on the hilt of her sword, smiling a demure grin, her sickly green skin stretching for him to see. 

“Fine.” The merchant untangles himself from the fight and the amulet, grumbling under his breath as he takes the money from Jevin’s outstretched hand. “I dunno why people are suddenly buyin’ up all the protection amulets. There some kinda guild war about to break out?” 

“Not exactly.” Ren snickers, before trodding out of the tent and back into the sunlight. If he were on Eremita, he’d stretch out and sunbathe, sunglasses perched just so that he can see the clouds make their own creations in the sky. His daydream is ruined, however, when he feels a rap against his rear, tail tucking between his legs. 

“Hey boy, wanna get the stick?” Jevin teases, waving a snarled old staff for Ren. 

The mixed-up mage isn’t amused- though, the werewolf in him does make his heart beat in excitement to chase a stick. “My dude, I’m not even a real werewolf. I just know I rock a tail and ears.”

Cleo shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. Who would waste 2000 rupees on some stick? These merchants are out of their mind. Now I see why Scar left his home.” 

“That’s not just ‘some stick’ li-” The merchant stops when a flash of metal glints against the sun, backing up until Cleo sheathes her sword again. “I- it’s a shift stick. It’s a one time use, takes the holder back in time a minute. A do over, a chance to fix a mistake. Perhaps even more useful than any stone necklace. One of a kind, and for such… unique customers like you, I’ll lower the price to 1500 rupees.” 

Jevin pulls out 5 gold rupees, before Ren and Cleo can say anything, and clutches the stick. “Totally worth it.” 

“How do we even know if it works?” Ren isn’t sure if it does exactly what it claims to do. They may have bought the most expensive branch in the world, but Jevin refuses to let it go. 

“We can ask Xisuma. He can check or something, he’s a smart guy.” Jevin shrugs. They have enough money, especially with how well Cleo’s haggling has gone. They could buy three shift sticks with the money they’ve been given, and still have enough to buy even more talismans. 

The three wander along the bazaar, meeting with other hermits on their way. BDubs and Keralis show off an entire chest of shielding stones, while Scar is laden with more golden amulets than anyone. When Cleo presses him on how he managed to find so many unique and powerful charms, he only smiles. “I know a thing or two about the trade business.” 

“Those are the dragon spirits on them.” Cub points out the twisting, dancing dragon. Without wings and the white pearl accents, it’s easy to identify which of the spirits is depicted. Ashtios, the Northern Wind Dragon. Another depicts winged dragons, finned dragons, sheared dragons. Fire, water, and earth. The spirits and sages that aided the gods to create the earth, and who provide median between the two realms. Nothing is more protective than a dragon, and they can feel the strength in the spell of each amulet. 

Down the bazaar, the hermits jump at the sound of metal clashing and magic being cast. Followed by yelling, Keralis and Doc are chased from a shop. The shopkeep waves her broom at the two. “What kind of freak eats a bug in the middle of my store! Get back here you cretins!” 

Doc’s gruff snicker is only matched by Keralis’s whimper. “But it was gonna help us. It was just a noisy locust.” 

The two escape from the bazaar, disappearing into the crowds of Redland. BDubs points in the direction his friends just escaped, blinking away confusion. “Should we be concerned about them?” 

“Keralis is with Doc, he’ll be fine.” Xisuma waves. “Besides, their grown men.” 

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones who got distracted by other goods.” Cleo nods her head at the books in X’s arms. 

Xisuma looks offended by the statement, and stutters over his breath to explain himself. ‘The-these are ancient works! They could have important information about dark magic!” He looks at the stick Jevin’s holding. “What kinda crap are we bringing home now?” 

“We have flying shoes.” Iskall holds them aloft, Grian preening the white feathers flat against the golden laces. 

“Dowsing rods and a mood ring.” xB keeps the metal rods far away from Hypno, who seems all too keen on starting up a hurricane in the city.

“And what we hope is a stick that can turn back time.” Jevin holds it up. “Otherwise I’m going to use this stick to beat that merchant for lying.” 

Lucky for Jevin and the merchant, Xisuma can feel the magic in the whorls of the wood. “I’ll say, these are all pretty impressive. Useless for our cause but… temporal magic is difficult. Were all our rupees wasted on things we didn’t intend to buy?” 

“Not the Convex!” Cub grins, hefting the smaller of the duo over his head, blue embers gleaming from their eyes. “We have enough protection amulets to destroy whatever Dolios got!” 

Xisuma opens his mouth to answer, but another voice cuts through the air, his own faltering and fading against his mask. “Now what reason could you have to go against Magistrate Dolios?” All of the hermits turn, seeing a squadron of members from the Guild of Gedeon, red tassels that mimic the Council’s golden ones fluttering in the wind. Behind them, the broom wielding merchant sticking her tongue out at the hermits. “Wait a minute- I think I’ve seen these scum before.” The center mage points at Mumbo. “You beat me in the duel!” 

Xisuma meets his gaze with TFC, both with their eyes wide. Behind him, Iskall rolls up his sleeves and snaps his gloves tight, ready for a fight. Mumbo’s fraught voice whispers out from beneath his mustache. “No one bought any smoke bombs, did they? Anyone?”

The guildmembers hear his words, and three magic circles rise. Mumbo shrieks and hides behind Grian. “Why did we have to send our two best fighters to Alphasgard?” 

Wind blusters against the hermits, tearing flags against their poles and sending the bazaar into chaos. Grian’s wings open, flight feathers brushing against the stone walls on both sides of the bazaar. He beats his wings down, and a gale force wind sends the bucket-headed goons of the Council knocking into one another, rolling down and into the mudcaked gutter. “Alright, I think the shopping spree is over guys. Time to bounce!” 

One second, the head mage is on his feet, the next he’s collapsed on the floor, snoring. Hypno’s wild purple magic circle twists in his hand, eyes blank and full of sleep while he searches his own mind. Digging through his dreams. The other two wizards slip their way out from the gutter, sharp spines of one’s spell driving forward like horns of a bull. But a dense fog appears in the midday sun. 

It’s also bright blue. Beef turns, taking the sudden cover as his chance to escape. All of the hermits follow suit, though Joe remains a few paces behind to follow Hypno. “Blue fog that smells faintly of cotton candy...I would love to study your psyche and dreams one day, my dear friend Hypno.”


	41. Forged in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the other hermits forage in Redland, Wels and False forge ahead in Alphasgard, where the best fighters train and best swordsmiths learn. But it’s not just the Arcane guard that is after the two- some old ‘friends’ of Wels want a rematch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my awesome co-author Red on tumblr at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/)! He has awesome designs, cool lore, and more aus!

“Halt by order of the Council of Guilds!” False drops the khopesh in her hand, grabbing Wels and dragging him away from the merchant. 

“Thank you for the offer but we have to get going. Right now.” False nods her head over her shoulder, and Wels spots the incoming arcane guard. As soon as he locks eyes with the captain of the patrol, the soldiers push through the busy open market and unsheathe their weapons. 

“Yeah, time to scram.” Wels lets himself be pulled away by False, and the two take off into the crowd. They laugh as they hear the sound of guards yelling, followed a second later by the crash of metal against stone. 

Through the open market, the two blonds make their escape into the heart of Alphasgard. The city traverses over multiple hills, and as the two flee down the slope, houses made of stone and terracotta turn to wood and clay, until the dry pathway becomes a sandy beach at the edge of the Ashioll fjords. Wels ducks between a cart towing raw iron ore and the loud cheering of an archery event along the shore. 

False gets ahead of the guards and Wels. She’s not wearing armor, not left to sink in the sand. But Wels gives himself a speed boost, and quickly catches up with her. Unfortunately, their chase through the beach did little to confuse and confound the arcane guard still after them. “We should split up, Wels. I’ll go over, you go through. Meet me at the Tower of the Blade.” 

“How long should I wait?” He questions, silently cursing having to split up. It’s just the two of them here in Alphasgard, among the square buildings and stout towers. Their magic deals in this physical combat, and they had hoped that just being the two of them would mean they wouldn’t draw the attention of the arcane guard. Fat lot that did. 

“Ah, give me an hour, then assume somethin’s gone wrong. But don’t do anything stupid, just get the supplies and report back to the Order. You know I’m no damsel in distress. I’d do the same if you get caught.” False tightens the weapons strapped to her, preparing to jump and climb. 

“I feel bad for the poor guards that would have to deal with you.” He snickers, before breaking off. The two flee into the city, two different directions.

False takes the high road. Clambering up a ladder made of driftwood, her boots clatter against the wooden roof as False runs across the flat planed shelters. She summons a set of daggers, and throws them into the clay wall, vaulting up the side of the home, each blade a foodhold. Her wild locks of blonde hair dance in the heated tropical sunlight, only tamed by her forging goggles, which sit secure to the crown of her head. 

Over her shoulder, she can hear curses and shouts as the guards struggle to chase after her. Over tall keeps and through windows, she feels almost like a bandit, just finding the best way across the city. Or an assassin, moving above where most won’t look. She clambers up a smooth stone pillar, and jumps from it’s crest to a tower, rising far above most other buildings. From this height, she can feel the cold wind from the fjord whipping at her cheeks. No other building in this district reaches quite as high. 

“Looks like you’re outta roof.” False turns around, her eyes catching on a cart full of palm fronds and a banner on the side of the tower, and faces the three arcane guard before her. The guard at the forefront twirls his shortsword. False can only scoff as she sees how shoddily made the blade is. It was quenched too quickly. One good hit and it could shatter on him. 

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” False snickers, shrugging and putting her hands up. Taking one step back, until her heel is drifting over open nothingness. “But looks can be deceiving. See you later, boys.” 

With a two fingered salute, she lets the other foot slip off, and she plummets towards the ground. Arms outstretched, she can’t help but laugh at the shocked and terrified faces of the guards above her. She continues to plummet, like an eagle diving towards it’s kill. When it seems like she’d be crushed against the sandy street below, False reaches out and slows her fall by digging her sword into the banner of the building, and buries into the cart of palm fronds. A second later, she hops out, unharmed but heart racing, and continues on her merry way. Leaving the guards shocked and stranded at the top of the tower.

Wels lost sight of False when she hopped over the large square building in the distance. But he has to deal with his own tails he’s kiting through the city. He runs through the crooked streets, somehow managing to squeeze his armored body between the flow of people, trying to keep his head low and disappear among the crowd. 

But the guards aren’t quite as gentle. They barge through people, knocking families apart and sending tailors stumbling for their bobbins and spools. It’s like a bull barging through, eyes trained on the red tassel that swings from his helmet. He can’t keep going straight, they’ll catch him. He has to be clever. 

In a sharp turn, he disappears into the open forges nestled beside an eclectic mix of drink stands. With the blasting ovens baking the smithers and the beating sun against the dry desert sand, the canteens are bustling with people. What Wels wouldn’t give for a sip of the bright blue drinks that are slid across the counters, the clinking of ice against the glass, refreshing as he sweats under his armor. But he doesn’t have time to stop. 

Until fingers wrap around his lion-like tail, and throw him into the ground. He rolls away from a blazing hot rod of unfinished iron. “I got em guards!” 

A bladesmith, mid heat treat, has halted Wels in his tracks. Alarmed by the scene before them, the crowd parts until it was just Wels and the guards. He has no choice now but to fight. Wels frees his blade from it’s scabbard, defending himself but refusing to deal the first blow. Hels would’ve cut down all three guards in an instant. Wels could easily destroy them. But he’s not Hels anymore. 

A guard breaks the silence, swinging his saber to cut down Wels. It’s a stupid move, and Wels easily blocks the attack, the thin metal caught in the twists and curls of his sword. From behind him, another guard shouts out his orders. “Cease and desist this instant! You are under arrest by order of-” 

“Yeah, I’m not really listening.” Wels sneers, twisting his blade and pulling the saber free from the guard. With a flourish, he points the tip of the sword at the shocked guard. “Anyone else want to give it a go?” 

Those words, spoken in a crowd among the city of combat, brought the chaos that Wels needed to escape. It was an invitation to anyone with a sword and a bit of stupidity to start a duel. And from the swarm of people, a dozen different weapons are drawn and brought into the ring. Among the chaos, Wels slips away, dipping behind a drink stand. He can’t help but grab a glass on his crawl past, but he makes sure to leave a few rupees- including tip- for the server. 

Escaping the crowded forge, through a weapon shop, Wels nearly runs face first into a cart full of palm fronds. His tufted yellow tail flicks to the side to balance him out, but someone takes his hand and keeps him from being stranded on his back in his armor. “Saved ya.” 

“False!” Wels grins, happy to see his friend and fellow swordmaster, safe and even smiling. “Looks like you lost your tails.” 

“And you kept yours.” At first Wels thought she meant his actual tail, but when he hears a crashing from the weapon shop he just emerged from, he realizes he hasn’t quite lost the arcane guard after him.Without wasting another second, the two take off towards the Tower of the Blade. The tallest building, rising above and towering over everything else in the city by leaps and bounds. 

It was their goal, not just because it was easy to spot all across the city, but was also a safe haven from the arcane guard and Dolios’s far reach. It was a place of training and bettering oneself. It was the masters of the dojos and training grounds that determined who could enter and who could find safety among their ranks. It was there that Wels found a new purpose in life, after being betrayed by his bandit gang. Here that a master brought him in, despite his dark past, healed him and gave him a reason to change. Even when he thought he was evil, she saw the good in him and trained him. 

It’s here they’ll be able to find solace, to get trained in being an army all their own, for False to learn new ways to forge new weapons, and for Wels to hone his skills with his magic. 

The two disappear down a thin passageway in between two buildings, hiding in the shadows and staying quiet. Wels casts a spell to better camouflage them, and they hold their breath. Seconds feel like hours, until they watch the arcane guard run past the alleyway they’re hidden in. The two don’t move for another few minutes, waiting to be sure that the guards are gone. Only then do they emerge from hiding, and continue on their way. 

In the shadow of the Tower, Wels finds he’s able to untense his shoulders. This was his home before the hermits. A place he found peace, stopped being Hels and welcomed Wels. It’s here he became the man he is now. How he became a hermit. They’re welcomed in, False and Wels splitting apart to learn their individual skills. 

False finds herself in a class on layering metal types, and quickly impresses the master bladesmith with her even heating and precise strikes of the hammer to make just the right curve in the blade. But with the master, she learns to create thick blades, axes and hatchets, cinquedeas and even patas. 

As she pulls the five finger wide blade from the oil it was treated in, False is grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s see how Dolios will handle our new toys.” 

The hermit bladesmith tosses the new weapon to Wels, and he finds himself in the sandy promenade, among a group of students learning the sword style of arnis- martial arts similar to that found in and around Shellor. Wels can’t wait to challenge Etho the next time they’re on Eremita. His blade may not be from this fighting style, but Wels wants to practice his flexibility among weapons. Not just his massive zweihander, but all weapons in all fighting styles. 

Wels is about to test the sharpness of the sword by cutting through a series of bamboo enemies, when an all too familiar voice- to only him- rings loud and clear in the vaulted halls of the Tower. “You never know when to quit, lionheart?”

The healing scar on Wels’s shoulder burns, but he turns around and faces the group of rogues. “And you never know how to keep your prisoners tied up. That was a pretty easy escape, if I say so myself.”

It was this group of bandits that he was investigating before he returned to Eremita. They who captured him while he infiltrated their numbers, they who made him unable to respond to the hermits. They who scarred him, but he came out stronger. And he’s not running from a fight this time. 

“You’re so damn cocky, what I wouldn’t give to cut that stupid smile off your face.” The bandit sneers. 

“If you want to duel, you just have to say?” Wels turns his back, his nonchalant attitude and snarky remark infuriating his opponent. Across the promenade, Wels sees False draw her own weapon. He waves her off. So long as the rogue will play fair, they won’t have to become the center of False’s wrath. No person should dare be on her bad side. “I just learned a very unique style of fighting, you wanna see?”

The bandit leader, with a scraggly mess of brown hair hastily tied in a bun, pulls out his blade. Wels may not be a bladesmith like False, but even he can see the cheap craftmanship of the heavy weighted sword. The training grounds clear out at the scent of a duel, and both Wels and the bandit assume fight ready stances. Wels stands as noble as the paladin he is, feet firm in the soil, blade between him and his opponent, his other hand tucked behind his back. 

The bowlegged bandit spits to the side. “I’ll make the last scar we gave ya look like a paper cut.” 

The duel starts, and False can clearly see Wels is already ahead. The bandit stumbles to the side, his blade unbalanced as his stance, and Wels digs the thin pommel into the square of his opponents back. The bandit plays quick and dirty, and soon the two are locked in combat. But even when he has to retreat after the blade slips between his armor and wounds him, Wels is still ahead. Last time, he was outnumbered, not outmatched. 

This time, he has the upper hand, so long as his opponent respects the art of the duel. Respects the rules of the Tower. The battle continues, with each hit his opponent makes on him, Wels gets two. He retreats back, looking over his shoulder after admiring the craftmanship of his sword in comparison to the shoddy blade of his enemy. “This is one hell of a sword, False! Great job, friend!” 

His words, although kind, seem to only enrage the bandit. When Wels turns around, he’s no longer dueling the bandit leader. He’s back in that dark speakeasy, fighting off twenty or so of these rats before being overwhelmed and captured. The other bandits have joined in on the fight. “To hell with decorum, I just want to see your blood staining this entire place.” 

Despite the encroaching axes, clubs, spears, and swords, Wels can’t help but chuckle. He backs up, towards the forge. Towards his fellow hermit. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’re quite… False.” 

His grin only grows when the forge wizard appears before him, summoning a blade as hot as an oven’s flame. He brandishes the newly made weapon. Two hermits against ten or more bandits? 

Too easy. The rogues don’t know what’s coming to them, but False and Wels fight like dragons, as graceful and strong. They have each other’s back. If False gets into a pushing match, Wels gives her a strength buff, and she sends her opponent skittering into the dirt. If Wels is surrounded by rogues, False summons throwing knives, and Wels can step over the ambushing party to get back into the fight.

The rogues weren’t prepared for the strength between two hermits. Wels alone was a struggle, but they managed to overpower him. But Wels and False? The fight is over quickly. Any rogues left standing flee, leaving behind their peers and disappearing into the city. Wels sneers, remembering how he was once left that way. 

False runs a bloody, muddy hand through her hair. “Well, I think we got enough training in that one fight. What do you think of the cinquedea?”

He turns, testing the weight of the sword False made. “Strong, balanced, good for cutting and stabbing. It will kill.”


	42. The Forest of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hangman's Playground awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my awesome friend and coauthor Red at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for cool designs and more great info!

Standing before the tall, seemingly endless copse of trees, it looks like any other forest in Lairyon. It’s not quite as tall as the Evernight Forest, or bright as the Flowerfruit fields. To someone who didn’t know any better, this was a regular forest. But no one in Lairyon would dare enter this forsaken ground. Brambles grow right up to the edge of the treeline, not a single thorn cut, not a single leaf plucked. Even the most plump, ripe, delicious fruit goes unpicked among these trees. 

But the leyline they stand over, five hermits wide and pulsing with Ren’s imagination magic infused and glowing, goes directly into the Forest of Memories. All three major leylines run into the forest, but Grian noticed on their way here that a fourth one also radiated out, this time in a westernly direction. Towards the Ashioll sea. 

No time to explore the implications of that. Not after all the training, all the resource gathering they’ve done. No, there’s no more time to waste, no more preparing they can do. Today, no matter what happens, they will find out what Magistrate Dolios is hiding. 

TFC tries to psych himself up, despite every fiber in his old bones telling him not to go in. Ever since he was a boy, almost every story he was told warned him not to enter the Hangman’s Playground. The stories never quite explain what happens within these woods, but the tales of those who dare enter only got more horrifying as he got older. 

Grian, on the other hand, walks straight through the bushes and into the forest, much to the shock and horror of everyone else. He knows the stories, true and legend, he just doesn’t care. Soon after, Etho follows in, then Tango, Joe, xB, and Jevin. One by one, following after the cheerful angel, until only TFC and Mumbo are left at the forest interface. TFC places his hand on Mumbo’s back. “I wouldn’t recommend being last, with your back to the forest and all that.” 

It’s enough to get him moving, running to catch up with Xisuma. The Forest of Memories swallows the hermits whole, trees letting in only dapples of light across the ground. The smattering and ever changing light plays tricks with the hermits’ heads, flashes of things that shouldn’t be here appearing in their eyes, sounds that don’t belong in a forest playing distantly with the wind. 

They do their best to stay directly atop the red hued leyline of dark magic, Ren every so often recasting his spell to keep from losing the trail. They pass by a herd of goldhorns, grazing in a clearing alongside a wild herd of shleep. The night sky wool wisping into the air and playing in the distorted light. Zedaph almost runs off to join the shleep, were it not for Impulse holding him by the capelet. `Turuls and Anzus flit between full crowns of trees, the latter spitting water and breathing fire as it plays. 

It was a perfectly normal forest. But between every twitter, there was a scream. Behind every dappled ray of light, there was a world long gone. The Forest of Memories is sinking it’s teeth into the hermits. 

A flash of light blinds Stress, and she’s no longer in the calming, quiet forest, hiking with her fellow hermits. The sounds of birds and the breeze replaced by a low roar of voices and lush music. The snug, warm, and durable robes of her outfit is gone, rather feeling sterile, starch silk shift across her legs. She feels so exposed in the rich, beautiful dress. And when the light fades from her eyes, she’s standing in a grandiose ballroom. Her parents’ ballroom, full of people, all wearing similar dresses and suits. All wearing the same smile.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice Stress immediately recognizes as her mother shouts. The tight bun of brown hair, the same shade as Stress’s own, leans down and hauls her skirts up. “These shoes are peasant wear! And look at your posture!”

“But mother,” Stress whimpers. 

“Don’t talk back! You are a lady, act like it!” 

“I don’t want to be a lady! It’s borin’, mother! I don’t want to use my magic to make swan sculptures,” She waves to the side, knowing that an ice waterfowl is just nearby. Of course she knows- this is her memories. “I wanna make something grand and beautiful! Something no one has ever made!”

The ball fades for a moment, like fog in the night, and her mother has been replaced by a different face. A face she knows, though is much, much younger. But his voice betrays the illusion. “Stress, stress! Snap out of it!”

Mumbo’s face regains his mustache, matching the grownup voice of her fellow nobleman, and something cold, smooth is pressed into her hand. The talisman fights away the illusion, until the mist has dissolved in the summer sun and her true family stands before her again. Twenty something concerned faces, BDubs and Iskall helping her stay standing. “I...I was back in Milliara, in ma family’s manor.” 

Xisuma shakes his head. “You were here the whole time. It must be the forest. It’s like what Queen Erlea mentioned, the forest uses our mind against us.” 

“Such a peaceful forest,” Cleo whispers. “Yet it harbors such dangerous magic.” 

“It felt so real. I knew it was a memory, but in the moment….” Stress shakes her head. “In the moment, I was trapped as a lady again.”

She runs her fingers over the talisman, then pulls it over her head. With the help of her friends, her true family, she regains her step and they move forward. But every shimmer in sunlight, Stress’s fears only grow. 

The forest isn’t after her. Xisuma is always the logical one. He’s deduced that the forest seems to play off people’s memories, latching onto their emotions. The ghost in Addows mentioned that she only thought happy thoughts, and the Forest didn’t have control over her. So Xisuma thinks happy thoughts as well, simple and to the point. He thinks of his fellow hermits, building his beloved tower. 

He built his observation tower with Ex. And just like that, the forest has found his weak spot. He’s not standing among the trees, but rather in front of his observation tower. And only one other person was with him. Standing, hackles raised, was his brother. 

Ex’s white hair was luminescent in the sunshine of the Ashioll sea, red cloak discarded and tucked beside the wall of fresh, unweathered, and unblemished stone. No burn marks from Tango or Impulse, or mismatched windows after Grian would throw a rock just a bit too large. No, there were only two people on Eremita. 

Not anymore. “We can’t let any random person on our island! We hardly know anything about this poet guy, he could be working for the Council!” Ex waves his hand in the general direction, where their newcomer is tapping the end of his quill against his chin. Leaving an ink stain. “This is a place to hide, for us to be free, brother. You’re too trustworthy!”

“And you’re a coward!” X’s voice rises over his mask, forged by his brother to protect him from the sunlight. “You’ve blinded yourself with your own light, and you can’t see that we’d be stronger,  _ safer  _ with more. We can’t be a guild with just two brothers.”

“I never wanted to be a guild.” Ex surges till the twins are nose to nose, the supernova mage’s eyes burning with the heat of a thousand stars. Xisuma’s are as dark as night. “I just wanted somewhere for us to be free, aren’t I all you need?” 

The words fall from X’s mouths, stinging as he says them this time around. He should’ve never said them, but now he’s being forced to relive this horrible moment all over again. “I don’t need you, I never needed you!” 

Xisuma finds himself on the ground, his mask knocked loose. But the sunlight wasn’t the only thing burning his eyes. Blood falls across his face, perpendicular slashes oozing red ochre, and the same dripping from the end of his brother’s staff. 

In his foolishness, blinded by the sunlight, by his brother, Xisuma fights back. He summons his magic, and hurls twin lashes of void at his brother. Knocking him over, grasping against the frozen burns across his own face. Xisuma stumbles to find his mask, ignoring the blood. “An eye for an eye. You aren’t my brother.” 

The pain feels real, the sensation of the blood running down his face, the scent of ozone in the air feels real. But Xisuma remembers that day clearly- the worst day of his life. The day he lost his brother. And he knows he wasn’t crying. 

_ It’s not real _ . Xisuma reaches up, and feels the wet stain. It doesn’t coagulate like blood, the tears that run from beneath his mask.  _ It’s an illusion, Xisuma. _

Logic is Xisuma’s strength. He wasn’t logical that day, but he is now. And he cries, for the loss of his brother, his best friend. He focuses in on those teas, something the forest can’t hide from him. He closes his eyes, feeling the guilt and sorrow. Wishing he wasn’t so cowardly to reach out and make amends. 

Distantly, he feels someone touching his arm, his hand. But it doesn’t feel like his body. A cool metal band slips around a finger, and he can finally find his way out of the illusion.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest again, the illusion shattering and sparkling like starlight in the sun. Like the tiny stars his brother used to make when they were boys. Xisuma jumps out of his skin when a hand lays on his arm, feeling all too real. Joe stood next to him, other hand retreating from the moodring on Xisuma’s finger. The first newcomer to the island. He offers peace, but Xisuma can’t find it within himself. 

The forest is in his head, twisting his memories and reminding him of all his wrongs. Turning his mind against him. He can only focus on walking, follow the line of hermits before him. Wishing for the horrible thoughts to end. And wishing for his brother to be at his side. 

Xisuma isn’t the only one who lost his family. But at least his is alive. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango tried to steel themselves in preparation of what they knew the Forest of Memories would bring up. They thought they were prepared, able to fight off the Hangman’s Playground. Both physically and mentally. Even Zed thought he’d be able to shepherd away the intrusive thoughts.

The forest is smart, however. And it goes for him before the others. Zedaph feels the heat against his face, and closes his eyes. He will not see that night. Zedaph hears the screams, of his own guild dying around him, and he hums to himself. He will not hear that night. He tries to block it out, to block out the forest, to refuse it access into his head to hurt him further. 

“Go, Zed!” The voice is so crisp, so real, it’s not just an echo of a memory. He can’t help but look up, searching for his guildleader. 

And he sees scicraft burning. He watches as the fire hurls across the sky, and ash coats the massacre in a fine layer of dust. But he realizes, experiencing this night all over again, that it’s not just ash dancing in the air. Mixed with the burning embers are the fragmented pieces of husks- those attacking the guild. Husks before he even knew dark magic existed. 

Zedaph collapses to his knees, alerting the other hermits to his vision. Impulse falls victim next, his face red as the sensation of burning is played through his head. As, in his illusion, he’s running through the fire. Calling out for the other guild members, even though he knows there’s no hope. He’s trapped in the past, forced to relive the day he lost his family. Until all he had left was Zed, Tango, and a memory. 

Tango rushes to try and retrieve a potion, liquid happiness that was brewed to perfection by Stress. He digs his hand through the bag of supplies, until his fingers close around...fabric. Tango retreats his hand, no longer digging through his backpack, but rather digging through the ashen remains of his guild. He’s holding a torn, burnt cape, stained in blood. 

In one fell swoop and one horrible shared memory, all of Team ZIT is in the clutches of the forest. It plays with their mind, their memories. Turn them on themselves, blaming themselves for the loss. Survivor’s guilt. The other hermits try to snap them out of it, placing talismans on them and forcing potions across their lips. 

It’s not until Doc takes control of Zed, and uses his friend’s magic to dispel the thoughts are they able to get ZIT in any state of relief. Doc feels horrible, but it was a necessary evil. The ZIT trio hold each other close, the thoughts lingering like mist in the morning, whispers of the forest still controlling them. 

Doc looks at the others, their faces worn thin. The sight of their friends, their family struggling has weakened them as well. The Forest of Memories will claim them all if they don’t hurry. Queen Erlea was right- no amount of preparation could prepare them for this. Doc nods his head at the bright red leyline. “The longer we’re in here, the more Hangman’s Playground will toy with us. Let’s keep moving.”


	43. Crossfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the forest has control of lightning magic, someone is bound to be struck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Red- who came up with the creepy ass forest here and Mumbo's Dick dad- for more awesome content at [ theguardiansofredland ](https://theguardiansofredland.tumblr.com/) !

The deeper they got into the forest, the worse the illusions got. No one was safe, no matter how many talismans, potions, and mental exercises they run through. Sometimes the hermits have no choice but to stop and console a team member who’s being affected by the Forest. Warm hugs bring Cleo back from the long locked away memory of her death, how she became who she is now. It wasn’t until three potions and the welcoming press of his zweihander resting in his hand that Wels is able to ignore the illusions. And Grian nearly flies away as the Forest reminds him of how many times he’s been thrown out of every orphanage and guild he entered. If it weren’t for the hermits, he’d be alone, lost. And at the will of the Hangman’s Playground. 

Scar feels the sting of torn skin, right along where he got his namesake, before the rest of the illusion appears. Such a peaceful, normal forest. He tries to focus on the trees, the creek he passes by, with gentle animals of all kinds drinking from the fresh spring water. Of the perfect placement of rocks, ferns, even the way the dirt curls over roots. 

“No merchant’s son will be seen playing in  _ dirt _ !” The hot sting of blood, of torn skin marred by rich jewels and gilded rings. His father’s voice growls through the extravagant manor. 

“And he tracked mud onto the entrance carpet! There’s no possible way we can get that stain out!”

“I wasn’t playing in dirt.” Scar whispers, daring to defy his parents. To speak out without being told to speak. His voice is young, pitching up and down across his words, tinged with anger and contempt. “I was practicing my magic. I was creating something ahmazin’.”

“I forbid you from ever using your magic! It’s a disgrace that my son’s magic is so...is so messy!” Scar’s feet were no longer on the ground, though he can faintly feel the soft compress of dirt in the forest, the illusion tells him otherwise. His father’s opulent outfit, matched with the bloody rings he wears on each and every finger, his hand balled in a fist in Scar’s collar. “You will let your worthless magic die, and do exactly as you are told.”

But Scar’s own thoughts rebuke the forest, without need of a single potion or talisman. Because he remembers what happened next. He spent his youth practicing in secret, and as soon as he knew he could make it on his own, he set off. From that moment forward, he defied his father by nurturing his magic, rather than letting it die. From that moment forward, he never did what he was told. 

And that led him to the hermits, his best friends, his family. He remembers the fateful day he met BDubs, pure happenstance and Scar’s own proclivity for disaster. He was in a tree, trying to better understand how trees form and grow to mimic in his magic- he wanted to make it as perfect as nature itself- when he fell backwards and ended up crushing the hermit just walking through the woods. 

If it wasn’t for his act of defiance that night, he wouldn’t have found his true family. If it wasn’t for that night, he wouldn’t have become the S-Class mage he is now. He wouldn’t have won in the Chimaera’s Championship. The night the Forest of Memories chose was one of the worst nights of his life, but it was also the beginning of the best thing ever to happen to him. The beginning of his new life, with his true family. 

The illusion shatters, like glass, fractals dissolving and lost in the wind. Scar smiles, looking around at his friends. Those who welcomed his magic, let him nurture it. “Have I told you how much I love you guys?” 

“Look, I think we’re getting close to whatever is hidden in here.” Doc points out, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. In the distance, red light bounces and is absorbed by the warm brown bark of the trees. Another leyline, just as large and pulsing with stolen lifeforce. They’re so close, they’ve come so far. Certainly there’s no way they can lose themselves now, they’ve been fighting it off successfully for who knows how long. 

But not everyone is successful in fighting off memories. At the back of the group, Mumbo wipes away the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t warn the others about the memories playing around him. He doesn’t want to disappoint the hermits. 

Not like he disappointed his dad. The Forest of Memories, the Hangman’s Playground, has dug up his worst fears, and replays every time he’s failed his father. Every time he returned from one failed guild exam after another. The sidelong glances and long tirades of how much of a disappointment Mumbo was. Every single one, from his first exam when he turned thirteen, to the last exam before he was disowned.

It was that one that hurt the most. And it was that one that the Forest replays not just in Mumbo’s mind, but all around him. The trees turn to pillars, and Mumbo is standing on the expansive steps of his family’s manor. His father’s stern face looks down at him, clean shaven and hair slicked back harshly. The tight pull of the starched white collar of Mumbo’s shirt is even harsher, but nothing compares to the dense silence between father and son. 

He was a disgrace to the family. Dozens of guilds, laughing at the family line for creating such a worthless progeny. Dozens of guilds, turning him away after he failed their gauntlets, exams, and prerequisites. No matter what Mumbo tried, no matter what he did, he could never be good enough for his father. Not the way he was. 

“Miriam.” Mumbo tips his head up to meet his father’s stern, cold eyes. “Come back a guildmember, or don’t bother coming back  _ at all _ .” 

He failed his family. He’s failed so many. He’s failed his family, he’s failed to help Gildara, or Danes. Fight after fight, battle after battle, he’s always the weakest link. He’s always been failing the hermits. And he’s failing them now. 

He’s the weakest link, and the Forest knows it. It knows he will fail, just like always. Mumbo wipes away tears, and discovers he’s in total darkness. The memory is gone, but the illusion kept it’s grasp on Mumbo. 

“Why would we want to be your friends?” A sneering voice echoes through the darkness, an accent all too familiar, the words all the more painful to be held by Iskall’s voice. 

“You can’t even use your own magic. All that power, wasted on a weakling.” A shadow passes in the emptiness, and Mumbo barely catches a glimpse of the brown, furry dog tail. 

A high pitched laughter, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. “You can’t fight, you can’t defend, you can’t even heal. At this point, you’re just dragging us down. We should have cut you down long ago.” 

The swing of a saber appears in the night, and Mumbo staggers backward as Cleo’s saber nearly cuts his chest open. In the foggy darkness, he can just make out her eyes. Or where there should be Cleo’s sea blue eyes. Instead, all he saw was oozing, black goo, pouring like viscous tears down her seafoam green skin. She’s gone, disappearing back into the darkness, a shark cutting through the waves. 

Mumbo attempts escape, but no matter where he crawls, the ebony darkness has him trapped. Laughter, voices rise from the void, whispers and shouts. Voices he knows, like those of his friends. Scar, Jevin, Hypno, even TFC. Berating him for being a useless member of the guild, that he’s just the jester, the pet. Of his father, yelling about the shame, that he wishes Mumbo was better, stronger, worthwhile. And voices he doesn’t know apart from the words they spit out. Bullies in school, taunting him in magic class for not even being able to call on his magic. Bullies in guilds, casting him out and laughing with every mistake he made. The guild leaders, sneering and jeering before, during, and after his failed tests. 

There was no escape from these dark thoughts, not when the Hangman’s Playground plays them out before his very eyes. Memories of reality, and memories of the fears and ‘what ifs’ he’s played a thousand times over in his head. He hears the voices he knows, just  _ knows _ the other hermits say behind his back. He feels the stinging betrayal as they kick him out, the very words dozens of other guilds have told him before. He watches Grian leave him for better, stronger friends. 

Mumbo reaches out for Grian, his best friend, shaking fingers just barely able to grip onto the tarlike wings of the agnel. Like a bird trapped in oil, each feather dripping with the black goo. “G-Grian, please, I promise I’ll work har-”

Grian turns around, hand slapping away Mumbo’s own, and the empty black goo of Grian’s eyes stare into Mumbo. Pinning him down, too afraid to fight back. To  _ weak _ to fight back. “Forget it, Mumbo. You’re useless, you can’t even draw your own magic circle. I don’t know why I bothered to ever save you, that day so long ago.” 

Beside Grian, Iskall’s laughter pierces through Mumbo’s heart. It feels so cold, so abrasive, even though nothing has changed about that tittering laugh of his friend. Mumbo shrinks awake, wiping the tears that cascade like a waterfall down his face. “I-I can be better, I can do better! Please don’t leave me!” 

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” The hiss from Iskall, slicing across his beard, catching the sludge and twisting in his facial hair. “Prove that you’re this mega awesome multi-mage of doom, and not some puny mega weakling that we know you are.” 

Mumbo’s panicking. He has to do it. Just this once, he has to unleash his power. So he can keep his friends. Closing his eyes, he digs deep. He tries to ignore the jeers and laughter around him, focusing in on his magic. His hands shake, but he tears down the walls he’s set up to protect himself, protect everyone from the surges he’s prone to. Mumbo can’t hold back on his powers, not unless he wants to hold onto his friends. He feels the power rushing through his body, but he doesn’t stop. He will prove it- he’s not worthless. 

Grian turns around, noticing that there’s one less person in the group. They’re so close, he can feel a change in the atmosphere around him. It reminds him of when they were in Gildara, but stronger. Like the entire world is pressing on his shoulders. “Mumby?”

Mumbo’s on the ground, kneeling with fingers clutched in the forest floor. His shoulders rise and fall, and Grian realizes that the Forest of Memories was playing with Mumbo. Grian walks away from the group, keeping his spirits high and fighting off the tendrils of dark thoughts that tickle his mind. He reaches Mumbo’s side, kneeling on the red illuminated leyline. 

“Oh gods…” Grian whispers, seeing Mumbo’s eyes as he tips the mage’s face up. Veiled by mist, Mumbo’s sight has swirls of grey blinding him to reality. He’s trapped, deep inside the illusion that the Hangman’s Playground. And he’s losing control of his magic, sparks snapping free from fisted fingers, redstone saturating the ground around him. Grian reaches his hand out. 

Hands rest on Mumbo’s shoulder, holding him down. The voices are louder, angrier, filled with spite and hatred. Drowning out any sense of Mumbo’s rationale, he lets go of his magic. He unleashes it all onto the world. 

Mumbo grabs his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, and lets loose as much of his lightning that he can muster. 

The darkness shatters, and Mumbo sees that it wasn’t his father, or any guildmaster, bully, or even Dolios himself holding Mumbo down. But it’s too late to stop the bolts of energy as it crawls through his hands and runs up Grian’s ruddy skin. One more time, the Hangman’s Playground toys with him once more, letting him see the truth. Letting him watch as the uncontrolled magic surges through Grian, sending the young angel crashing to the ground. 

“Grian!” Xisuma cries out, abandoning the track of red, skidding to the ground at Grian’s side. Mumbo scrambles to his feet, stepping forward. But then he sees the ricocheting of lightning, jolts of lightning still searching for escape from Grian’s body, and the writhing pain that his friend is in. Charred black wings, just like the ones he saw in his illusion. Mumbo’s not in control of himself- was he ever?- and the power of uncontrolled magic fills his body, blinds his thoughts. From one extreme to another. 

He hurt Grian. He could hurt any one of the others. He’s horrified by his actions, the thoughts that led him here. He’s all or nothing- too weak or too strong, and either way it destroys those he loves most. 

The ground moves beneath his feet, the shouts and calls little more than white noise as the Forest of Memories replays that second over and over again in Mumbo’s mind. Hurting his best friend, hurting a fellow hermit. The hermits could be calling for him, calling for Grian, calling for the goddess of the dead for all he cared about. 

Mumbo just runs. Far away from the hermits, deep into the branching teeth, into the belly of the Forest of Memories.


End file.
